Walking slowly on what feels like quick sand,
cherry blossoms of a calming flair,
scented pollen rushing through the air,
yacht of memories over the horizon,
rock ‘n’ roll tides rushing without compromisin’.
I wait for the yacht to return.

Waiting on a slippery rock,
my own waiting game as my only elixir,
knew he would bring the yacht to the dock,
can’t wait to tell him enough of your trick, sir.

I weathered many a storm,
he took what blossomed as granted,
no longer do I need to be that warm,
ready to bid adieu and give him his farewell that he so wanted.