I lost my daydreams for a while.
The bounce, the charm, the myrth, the smile.
All locked within the sleeping child
That I buried deep in the wild.

And yet, my fantasies resumed.
The undecayed body exhumed.
My girlhood rose from her repose,
The bright side of life to expose.

Loving and loyal my own paradise on earth
So full of fun laughter and myrth
I love you completely who are they to judge
I found true love and they sit there with grudge
Your arms are my sanctuary
Your heart beats through mine
I feel so complete when are bodies combine
My gentle giant so strong and so bold
Who's love does consume me from his heart of gold
Without you I'm nothing but pure misery
You released me from sorrow only you held the key
Jake you complete me so here what I say
I will love you completely till my dying day

A tarnished trumpeter never redeems
future joy's subtllety
the limelight challenge casts yesterdays myrth,
as an an old man cries
for the lost passages of his never written diary,
as the ceiling of his dreams unrepaired
quivers by  dusks lament

Hush-! Slow-! I creep behind an old oak’s cover,
To witness thine gossamer-white dress, where thy supple ******* hover,
Upon this stump thou dost sit, thy little viola enacting Dorian song,
Toward this sweet melodic scent, a little rabbit is drawn.
I gaze below the evening clouds and so must wonder;
Doth thy beauty draw mighty Dionysus asunder?
Then, suddenly, mystical air doth lift thy little viola,
And the air itself playeth quickly to a hemiola!
I watch in wonder, as thou prance to and fro,
Thy golden weaves swing, thine amorous glow.
Thy dance brings you toward me, though intentions blind,
I gasp out of fright, yet am flattered to find,
Thine outstretched hand, thy warming smile.
This hand I take, enchanted in thy charming beguile.
Under a springish dusk, and so teeming with myrth,
We gallivant in a passepied, feet dragging the earth,
Eight pixies, all aglow, give soft mellow light,
While I lift thine hand and spin thee with all my might.
Two songbirds perch, singing chorus for our overture’s peak,
And at the height of their strain, my lips meet thine cheek.
Thy soft white skin, thy blushing red glow,
I close mine eyes; we settle in, soft and slow;
And the pixies are gone, the songbirds had flown
And the viola is lost, too soon overthrown,
And of thy hand I let go, thy countenance fading,
I open my eyes to see none, but an empty forest waiting.