Twas under the brightest silver moon,
That I witnessed true perfection bloom--
Her hair like silken petals; her figure strong and proud--
And all this beauty blossomed five full months from June.

Just as frail as flowers, though, her splendor was painfully brief,
And, though many said I must move on, I could not contain my grief.
I could not bring myself to so easily sway!
I just did not have it in me to turn over a new leaf.

My mind's been a flutter with floating blossoms of her face.
A cloud of radiant spores I'm forever forced to chase.
This wasn't just a fish occupying a vast sea;
There were no other flowers that could occupy my shattered heart-vase.

And now her name's like perfume foreign to all other noses,
I've found a simple remedy that alleviates my pain.
But, as the garden of my heart festers and decomposes,
I feel a little better every time I burn the roses.