I look at the Creative Challenge and simply sigh
That I have this golden chance and know not why.
This challenge might be the most difficult yet
That in golden letters it should be set.
Not knowing the ending I must make a start
With golden promises that, are in my heart.
Shall I tell of an angel in a golden bed of glory
Then in gold clasps lock in the golden story?
Should I speak of the one of my truest desire?
Her fleece to be touched as dangerous golden fire.
The touch of her lips leaves me feverishly hot
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not.
As when the golden sun salutes the morn
With silken coats and golden rings to adorn.
Her hand in mine sends tremors through my very bones
Her golden touch could soften steel and stones
Her golden voice, from a golden era is a target
And that's the golden mark I seek to hit.
© Tim D. Culey -2013-
Perhaps the Tremeloes said it best.
