I was sitting by the cross
An view of a split, filled with mist
A cross of land's moss
and the body's fist
Of water sprinkling across
There was no one else to witness
Other than the first
Of many who was jealous
Only the one with a cross
See that land had filled the body
Making it feel like Belle
Watching the Beast's life fell
The cupid's flower of choice
Grouped for nobody
And felt for the Crossed man,
A feeling of rice,
in a cooker
Ready to play a game of poker
Guessing the time of the pedals' fall.
He felt nothing but the heaven that were tall.
He picked a rose,
And looked up
He arose
To the view of the girl from the riverbed top
Ending his day with a stop
Never may he let a flower ride the brook
Of another man's crop