May I call thee my darling?
As always, with thee here by my side
Though thou art not my lover yet
In dark abysses thou art the light
That I've admired since first we met.

May I call thee my lover?
Thou art as gentle as moonlight can be;
And as soon as thou talketh to me
In a lively and honest voice;
I'm dreaming only of thy kiss.

May I call thee my poetry?
Thy lips are just smooth like the sun;
Kissing thee was perhaps just too much fun
As we sat together over the sunny holiday
When dusk arrived and every blossom turned grey.

May I call thee my prayer?
To all I've asked God for; thou art the answer
Just like these lavenders of next summer
Thou held my hand and consoled me
When I was grim and alone under the tree.

May I call thee my winter?
To me thou art more than a friend
Thou art my dream lover and man
Soon as thou looked at me, I was dumb;
All my senses went cold and numb!

May I call thee my spring?
Thou art as shiny as those butterflies
All tender and splendidly sweet to my eyes
Thou art the ****** music of my poetry;
and the salvation of my misery.

But lastly, may I call thee my fate?
Thou art the flame of my fire,
and serene coldness of my ice.
Thou art the lamp that holds me lit,
epic words that I read and writ.