I've heard and read lovers recite
On love about their love;
… a full petalled blossom
in a silver vase...
Trite, I thought,
and so blase.
If what I recall is true.
I see my lover more like clover,
Spreading along a tree laden brook,
On a pathway through sun-streamed woods;
Spreading, thriving, covering green,
A more vibrant, living floral scene.
Trite, I think.