‘Twas a crank-up-the-woodstove Monday, in the hue of a pewter sky.
Soprano wind sang an aria for me that winter, ’79.
For, on that otherwise cold day, my blood flowed warm and true,
This fire in me was kindled there by the glow of the maiden of eden.
Soft as an Irish drizzle, bold as the Irish sea,
Through turquoise eyes, her soul choir sings a loving melody.
Now, I’ve not been a love-song writer. My words fall pale and thin,
In sonnet and on canvas, all I feel’s been finer said.
But my pen pours joyous juice, now, though the meter may not ring.
I fear no dearth of reason or rhyme, for of ecstasy I sing.
Maiden of Eden, unfairly fair is she,
I revel in her spirit and in all she understands.
Maiden of Eden, the luxury of her love,
So rich and sweet with song am I, for the joy of being her man.
1990 – Jon Gailmor – Album: Gonna Die With a Smile If It Kills Me