to you who i loved, now still do, perhaps soared, although vulnerable;
to you who refines a faint heart into a sweet growing garland,
your name echoes my thoughts and overflows my heart.
now, shall you whisper mine in one’s ear—
then i’ll hear the voice of the ocean
that speaks fairy tales and juvenile dreams.

to you who i love, always have,
perhaps more than a thousand times.
tonight, as silent as the wind passing by,
the night unveils once more, the enemy of anger:
a love that is safely kept in the wonders of the deep forest.
still, who is ire to interfere with two entwined soulmates?

my dear, the confidante of the moon,
i hear the hymn that you gracefully sing.
though love is but a triumph, too pure and fine,
your lips speak to beg; may this love never seek a forlorn goodbye.

but i know, dearest soul—sweet defeats bitter,
and my immortal soul does not age,
but instead, indeed grows love;
a love between us two; that, shall remain.

what i would tell you about the posies
that gather around
when they overhear my voice
calling out your name,
none would say the same.

for them,
caroused near the streams
that few perennials are but discerned;
springtime only passes by,
and then they are gone.

but how are they able to suss as such?
when these rosebuds
unlatch themselves
only when you are here?