'Tis composed in free verse,
nay more free than my soul
Eloquence of a dead man
spring of a deer at heart,

Mind of a frosty evening,
More eligiac than the war of our breadth
I'll break to you what summer is,

The shine of a crafty shadow of a bark
wearing ruby in your reflection,
the hollows of the leaves and bits of light from evening
joust in a green robe of poetic imagination,
the kind of bliss i imagine thinking of you

Think of spring music in the back,
A certain B with a certain A
A certain happiness,
like ripples of the stream,
My enchantress in white,
Clad in pain.
Smiling yet dead,
drenched in rain.