She's wrapped herself on the wall
With her fragrant pink flowers
In bunches of disheveled disarray
And when the summer wind blows
It sends a gentle floral shower
Of blossoms and scents my way
At night, under the moon and stars
I inhale her. With her I love to be
And though I dally and play with words
There can never be a poem as she.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
She's wrapped herself on the wall
With her fragrant pink flowers
In bunches of disheveled disarray
And when the summer wind blows
It sends a gentle floral shower
Of blossoms and scents my way
At night, under the moon and stars
I inhale her. With her I love to be
And though I dally and play with words
There can never be a poem as she.
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