Roesbuds In Spring She is to me as morning dew, the sparkling breath of day The rose born queen of every rose - such love has come my way Her sweetness is its fragrance, the earliest on that first day Where cradled in her quarters, this is the day of days The sun's light has become much brighter, and my soul which mirrors its glee Birds wake us with their chorus, to this, a perpetual rosebud sea Every leaf is silver born of every tree Her on a breeze enchantment is there for all to see Every swept-up petal gathered, held tightly less I dream While closely in her shadow be, all her but yet still me Such are my fleeting moments, new wings, made flight you see Whilst waiting at the gateway,the gateway to my dreams Lost amongst the heather, I yearn that I am seen If need be to wait forever for, she holds the only key "Only you I believe could occupy, every single time and place Our meeting was a miracle, and here I rest my case" No longer to be lost in heather, for an angel has rescued me These magic most of moments are all reality. Kates 07

Seasonal Simulacra The many colours of a rainbow scattered, across a wooded 'scape - Wind by thicket and pillar broken, lifts them in enchase Like an ever changing costume which, if less means more, I'm game - Light once foraged where now through, every aperture leaps - Spreading around and about her female form, and elsewhere peep peep peep - Not that she's so bothered though, for she's only skeleton deep - Yellows are the more predominant, on a kaleidoscopic facade - Must be from the Maple, 'Fie", she's left her calling card - Relentlessly turning her face, she's rustled through every space - Her body experimenting with lace, - if human she'd be a disgrace - But those song birds know their place - The robin looks quite fazed - Then a prima ballerina fake, with a spinning opening take - Arms angled out through space Yes, I'll join you, I'm making haste - I'm oh, so desperate, a metensomatosis case - But as soon she came she's another place - One split second but it reverberates With dance the same, - we never mate - But I suppose we just might, with meteorological bate - And of Spring, "well, she's so distant, but in common thin, - she does a double zero bring - Though elsewhere she's nicely blossoming, and really quite a rounded thing - And so young, but of course now out of date - Not like wine, rather scions, they may never take - But I guess that's fine for I'm resigned to wait - Perhaps when she's older we'll have a date - The problems her growth, it's at an alarming rate - Wild hair with coarse flowers her adorning trait - I try to train her, but she won't obeit - So I look to Autumn for escape, - soft and tranquil - Even if with a somewhat crinkled face - But I suppose I don't exactly have a place - For when Spring arrives, and she's never late - I'm standing quite as proud as a race - Of golden smiling daffodils - "So, I'm a dancer with the whispers of each place

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