Through the rapturous riot of flaming white flowers
That scented the air with their pleasing perfume,
I stood up in the garden of bountiful bowers
Awaiting my love in the May of her bloom.

She was smarter than roses, than daffodils, too,
And her eyebrows sat sharp over eyes of bright blue,
And her hair all a waterfall ran down so sweet
That I stood like a stone drinking spray at her feet.

Then on into the riot of flaming white flowers
She pulled me and fed me her spring-a-zing powers.
Cool petals were crushed there, and some patted toes,
And a hundred were blown into feather-like clothes!

As a cloud rolling inward, and outward and ’round,
We were weather unsettled, yet happy and sound.
We were smarter than roses, than sparrows more swift,
And we captured each other in play that gave lift
To our spirit of living in bountiful bowers,
That knocked off the dew-drops descending in showers!

We lay, and we smiled, giving tender caress
Midst the flaming white flowers of spring’s happiness.
And the sun went down thinking what day it had been
When the point of his being such glory had seen!

Then the twilight came twining us soft in its mist
And the coals of our passion we carefully kissed,
Lest the bushes start burning and everyone know—
For the flame in the night was our own private show!

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