He doesn't see past the horizon of his life
He doesn't indulge in the myth of the hereafter
He doesn't believe he is worthy of such a notion
He doesn't make it a habit to put pen to paper

But with her...

He envisions the future like he's lived it before
He sings of his plans that span several lifetimes
He romanticises his thoughts as soon as they're conceived
He converses in paintings and writes only in rhymes

I woke up extra early
To pick wildflowers from the meadow
I gathered goldenrods and roses
And picked some baby's breath
I watched the dewdrops scattered
Across the blades of grass
I watched the colors of gold
And lavender infuse the morning sky
I took a piece of baby blue ribbon
And tied it around my flowers
To hold your special bouquet in place
For this is your last bouquet here
And this is your special day

**~Marian~

Some leaves fall before their time,
others falling with this rhyme.
Synchronized inside my mind,
everything at one with time.

The breeze which sweeps the forest floor,
the will, the want, the joy of more.
The knowing, that what's right will lead,
to everything we really need.

Like the seasons, passing on.
Each with reason.
Each with song.
Words lost with the fading light,
as me and you walk through the night.