The season before this, I
Thought not of you.
I wish I could say this...
It wouldn't be true.
My love is a wave that
Falls towards the shore,
And quickly escapes
Whenever is bored.
But the catch about that is
A wave only leaves
When beauty of air depletes it
A breeze.
If you are the wind, that
Blows into days, I
Only do hope that your gust
Comes to stay.
And never do stray,
But I've wished that in past.
If so you do leave, thy wind
Equals wrath.