There she awaits-                                            
    In her jewelled palace far from faded-eyes    
A lily sheltered from the blanket of white;
the air perfume-light from the blossoms,  
                      and a yearning heart -

          Lo!                                                  ­                    
            The silver songs of Robins; the heralds of Winters
              twirl free.                                                            ­            
   Lo!                                                              ­
      A Hyperborean wind is roused from slumber
    and spreads its wings. Leaves drift down are
    kissed by frost; lakes, the woodlands placed
  under your trance. And your vision came to
be - a polished world on a fair day.            
                                         And at a pleasant hour-

The zephyrs run rampant from the heavy  
clouds, one that the balcony Beauty fully  
    embraces.                                            ­    
                      Clad in her yearning garments, a dress of                        
    snow silk-satin with a thigh- high slit and      
a frilled silk-hem.                                            
           ­                Whose arms are raised towards
Winter's melody-    
The zephyr's caress ever so gentle,              
     her dress flutters like a dove's wing in delight,
stroking her slim feet,                                      
her flushing heels-                  
It makes briefly escaping being enwombed
   by the shades of her room; the anti-chamber
                   of her heart's greatest desire,                                            
  where many tears are shed.
                                         a maid born of the mild moon-                      
                                                                ­                    Kourê.      
The Sun at its zenith pales in comparison to
her beauty.                                              
Her face, sonnet sweet-      
        Her voice, heaven's hymn-        
Her lashes, argent's flutter-
Her eyes, cerulean haunts-
                   Her body, fragrant; a slender willow-
                       Her hair, silver-aurorian blaze, held up
by a star-studded parrot's clip.            
Snow bejewels her divine lids, down to those
rosette buds that make her lips.                      
                  Despite it all, melancholy has a grip her
features-
      She is one who pays little to earthly riches,            
for it provides comfort in slivers          
Thoughts of flowers rest far from the altars
of her mind, for her mind is clouded by
             the thoughts of him-
He who she hopes to see and hold once more.
As he gave her word that he would return      
from his journey, leaving her in the palace;      
             his hand pulling the black gates.

Friendships are common
Friends everywhere
But the true ones, oh so rare

The ones who deeply care
Stand by you
In times of despair

Age no bar
There can be many
Whoever they are

Gender no ******
Seasons there are many
Weathering all,  no wonder

Distance does not matter
To meet, need not fly charter
All are neighbours in the heart

True friends are a treasure
In words
One need not measure

Friends that life chose
Hold them aloft , in the heart
Like the fragrance of a Rose