The Flower of Rhodes

And now see the way she takes her time. She’s spinning ‘round as if to find a place among the living – amongst this city. And she’s taking care of her bare feet as we stroll the streets. You know that she loves that feeling. She loves the feeling. And we’ll spend all our money inside tiny shops, tucked away from cobblestone curbsides. Now lets get some rest. And we’ll catch our breath. Catch our breath….

Yea, she doesn’t have to say a word.
It’s in her touch.
So much is in her movements.
And as we dance she lets her hair down
and I see her singing out.

And the sound of our laughter lands upon the ears of passersby, who every so often stop to inquire (yes, they all politely inquire), “What’s the occasion? See look how you hold each other tight>“ And though we’ve every cause for celebration we offer no reply except she smiles, pressing her finger to my lips and whispers, “shhh, you keep quiet”. So I steal a kiss to remind her, “my dear, we only have so much time here, but I must say! This is a side of you I have never seen before…and I hope to see more!” And now we’re dancing! But darling, finally the promenade begins to breathe: awake, alive, vibrant.

Sat down, two tables to the left, a man savors a cigar. He’s gazing upon the ships on the water. And further on the right they raise their glasses high, evidently enjoying the company of the other. So now the sunlight steals away from the shoreline. And the horizon shines for but a second, and gives way to the nightlife. She closes her eyes rests her head on my shoulder. All this time spent and I still haven’t told her I love her. So here it goes. There is a flower that only grows on the Isle of Rhodes.

So you give in, begin to bloom! Ooo.