I have a yearning to bedeck your figure

With words of love and grace inscribed in leaves

Of autumn; the floral world sighs and heaves

In pain and beats her breast in a quiver.

Yes, I want to foretell a thousand tales

And limn my dreams in a minstrel’s lyre,

And before all evanesce in a pyre,

Embrace me; history will embalm our trails.

...

The jealous blossoms spite and ask in vain,

Since feeling bereaved, they cry in dismay -

“Why beautify ‘Cinderella of the garden’?”

But I assure them my love will prevail someday;

Thus enfold my beloved in a sprinkle of tender rain

And lie on her bed with a jovial heart, a mind astray.

updated by @americymru: 11/19/16 08:42:44PM