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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419975" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Corn Silk</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419975" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Beautiful, most men would call her<br>Five foot two, not one inch taller<br>Her golden hair, a corn silk hue, <br>Her eyes, a deep Aegean blue.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419975" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Sweet William dead, my wife away<br>We’d meet in secret at a play<br>At racecourse with box lunch packed<br>Or at dinners off the beaten track</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419975" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A polymath, I swear it's true<br>An amateur musician too<br>She wrote the songs<br>and sang them too.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=419975" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Alas my life's not free to share<br>She met another, it's only fair<br>In my memory she never ages-<br>Just grows more beautiful by stages.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=John+F.+McCullagh">John F. McCullagh</a></strong></div>

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