stare at me, my little flower,
at what shall never be,
but then again, a forest weeps,
to see a paper never meet,
its lovers nest, I said too much.
Likened to my own desire, my heart aflame, my one true flower.
Never, one more time, I shall see the walk, the mourn.
Strut with me, my little flame,
show your heart, and win your fame.
Forever more, and always, shall not be the one to know,
my lovely man-stuck flower sits inside the lover's grove.
And furthermore I cannot say, will never stress, enough
How thorough can be lights, their faded hearts abound,
And never more be fire, but flowers in the ground.
