Ciara is in my every thought.
She’s all I see both day and night.
She’s Guinevere. I’m Lancelot.
The sun all day, the moon all night.
Upon my soul she is a blot
I know it’s wrong. O it’s not right.
There is no word for all the pain
I feel when she is far a way.
When from her love I must abstain
The sun will never shed its ray.
Why do my heart and soul remain?
Why can they never fly away?
I passed her by this afternoon
Or so I thought twas surely she.
Was it some eccentric lampoon
For our love was not meant to be?
Soon I shall sing another’s tune
She’ll fade into my memory.
Here’s my contribution to THE SUNDAY MUSE
I wrote it in the same style as Lord Byron’s lyrical poem ‘She Walks In Beauty’. The rhyme scheme is ab ab ab cd cd cd ef ef ef.