Spring

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Why doth the lark sing?
In the midst of,
Sparkling spring?
Whilst the roses,
Nearby bloom,
Tis for ye,
Thee shall presume.

No sooner had thou met,
Tresses held in barrette,
Words thee spoke,
Soon inclined,
Forces with thee,
Ye shall combine.

To converse for ye,
Tis was no art.
Tis merely stated,
Thy golden heart.

Thy nature warm,
Much like the sun,
A lass like thee,
Was there none.

The bond shall soar;
Thee shall hope.
At times of need,
Thee shall cope.

 

Photo Credits: hdw.eweb4.com

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