It is real
It is springtime
Or we shall call it quits
The time for a lovely disease
Do we still rhyme in affection and amorous touch
Or do we masquerade as intertwining winds
Let it be, or let us make love
As the bees bring honey
From an auburn leaf
Right underneath
A blushing rose
These flowers need your sunshine
My dreary love
You make the trees green
Every time you kiss my two eyes
When my face is near your shameless hair
As I touch your naked hand
And excited soul