So...there's this girl who's rather smart that, when her lips begin to part, drives me up the wall in a good way. I sort of want to see her everyday. She's usually busy though, so I occupy time with one constant sigh until she calls and then I go.
I don't really know too much about her --- she's Aphrodite's caricature! --- no,no, that's a bit rash and inflated, but in my stomach butterflies've congregated each time her face comes to mind. Severely interesting, her hands are often clean and she's never proved less than kind.
I think it might be good to write her a song (I should've been writing this all along) so that she'll feel sublimely delighted and is happy, though consistently derided by the upkeep of her garden's flora. She could use a lot of things uncommonly wrought, like poems stuffed with anaphora.
In time all the snowflakes will evaporate. In time the sun will sleep under an iron leaf. In time acetylene darkens human hate. In time all time will seem quite brief.
So, in honor of her I have created this mediocre song so dominated by use of the Yeats-stanza's rhythmic-rhyme, offering it to her as ends to the crime of my deplorable mannerisms. I hope it's well-received, being arduously conceived, but I'll openly accept criticisms.
Coral, though you must (and do) work a lot, work harder at those things which can't be bought (i.e. relationships, love, and empathy) for even the natural workaholic bee requires mutual love. Even while working find a small moment to sing this song. I hope it's enough.