Leyla Lee

I’ve met a girl in these resent days,
And over my mind, she’s throw a haze.
When I hear the name, I’m weak in the knees,
When I hear the name, of Leyla lee.

With lovely hair, of auburn satin,
With the flaring temper of the Latin.
With flashing eyes which burn like coal,
Like a long lost treasure, like a chest of gold.

A Spanish rose, growing among the cracks,
“Oh how lovely’” but these are the facts.
Seeds throw aside, though precious and rare,
Her roots are shallow, with no gardener to care.

Alas, she’ll journey to a place I know not,
And when she thinks of me, she’ll think I forgot.
But when I am old, and weak in the knees,
I’ll pick up some roses, and dream, of sweet Leyla Lee.©

George Henry Nichols