Spring has sprung gold
The creek croaks a tune of a mans toll
Trees strum chords of a maidens soul
Mountains chime and gardens bell a life untold
The doe eyes of beauty paw at rooted passions  
It must be the velvet of her skin encased and ashen
Perhaps the silk on her breath a porcelain vase
The valley bows at a hawthorns grace Crowned in an ivys vine
A queen deserves a rose of red wine