One sunny springtime morning
I met her on a fair day.
I saw her from a distance
Out strolling on the fairway.

As like the springtime morning
She filled the air with joy...
She was a rose of England
And I a blacksmith's boy.

I heard that she was singing
As I maundered ever near;
The sweetest, charming plainsong
Sent softly to my ear.

As like the springtime morning
She filled the air with joy...
She was a rose of England
And I a blacksmith's boy.

She had the rarest countenance,
She had the fairest flowing hair;
She looked the grandest lady,
Ethereal beyond compare.

As like the springtime morning
She filled the air with joy...
She was a rose of England
And I a blacksmith's boy.

She was a rose of this fair land,
The flower of Saint George,
But I my master's vassal,
A servant of the forge.

So, like the springtime morning
She filled my heart with joy...
She, a rose of England
Whilst I, a blacksmith's boy.

remind me--
what was ever so romantic about
sunrises, rain, and morning coffee?
remind me how to find meaning
in the monochrome,
paint color into the mundane
and strive for imperfection.

Noting changes.
Nothing grows.

Empty highs.
Empty lows.

I can't feel the warm,
And I can't feel the cold.

You try to make me happy,
And I try just for you.
But other than our trying,
Nothing else is new.

I worry I'll upset you,
If I can't make a change.
It's not fair of me,
To make you stay the same.