Old Soul of England

I left England back in the old age,
belonging to the same iris's, soul
and heart of me.

Another time perhaps
for the dimensions are unclear,
forging a path of meadow green,
lavender weed thistles gave
me sense of feeling,

but I gave into death-

Tipping mugs of ale,
skirted in thoughts of
brothels and wenches.

Still feeling my raven locks
dangling in a breeze of
reincarnated dreams, teasing
shoulders of dirt scuffed
bareness.

Longing for England,
shuffled in time,
to kiss the knight
that waits for me still....

Author's Note

I will come back.