Harlequin picked Columbine,
She was his perfect lover.
He shone.
She knew.
He glowed inside just for her.
She was a lover of wild flowers.
She walked the fields, like no other.
Carried on the floral breeze.
Every year in near mid summer she comes along to play.
Her Harlequin long gone away, but still her flowers come to play.
(C) Livvi