Remember I the times sore,
Stricken; afflicted and wretched.
Besetment assail’d from above,
Like the bottomward that downpour’d.

There sat I at sixes and sevens,
Dazed at what just befell.
For at the bridge knew not I,
What wrong I did nor neither fate might.

How did such beauty and perfection cease?
Why my imaginary cloud shapes no longer pleased?
For the bright blessed day of just 5 minutes,
Now overcast acerbity.

Though things may sometimes I never know,
Left unsolved it may best be so.
Memories more precious for there in Heart stays,
But storms will eventually dissipate.

With time I sat the more I knew,
Darkest clouds too come and go.
Silver linings are there always,
When storms pass there they glow.

In colors more varied than rainbows exhibit,
Petals from assortment of flowers they carry.
Like the beauty from which these chromatics due,
Such so is her liking for such colors; such hues.

For she be no favorite of particular bloom,
That all flowers be equal pleasing; receiving too.
I know not her but seems to me she,
In love with flowers than those buzzing around her constantly.

Not to say diddly of her nor just porcelain to view,
Nay don’t get me wrong, you deserve many festoons.
For flowers they belong only to an elegant minority,
And truth be, that you amongst the very few.

I adore the way your companion puts it,
That you be personified beast’s beau.
For most of us categorized as such,
And fittingly that Thee fits beauty’s shoe.

Purple prose the butterfly,
On flower top did it’s beauty shine.
Slender it’s body yet big,
Its wings of colors in social settings.

So attractive yet exclusive it be,
That all attention should flock around Thee.
For ornate and ever so pretty,
In mind though ago last I long time meet.

Purple in all ancient royalty,
My princess found I in Thee.
That all my world like the flower I be,
Should await your florid setting upon me.

Same feeling in abdomen I get,
Butterflies when you my eyes set.
For it be my heart beats uncontrollably,
When purple prose the butterfly I see.

Rainbows, the most spectacular show of lights on Earth.
Colors which make happy even the darkest of Hades.
Called so due to dispersed spectrum through mist,
Miracle of Nature indeed it is.

Seven colors some deem display of refraction properties.
Simply I ascribe each to every day of week,
That thoughts of you equally as pleasing sweet;
So such candied beauty is actually reflected on Thy cheeks.

What makes it all amazing, the bow of the rain,
Bending it’s colorations down for Thee.
Few fathom the top of bow is where ye sun is peaked,
The very place Thou be when Thy eyes chance upon should it.

More so fewer knows the sun be behind when Rainbows are seen;
The warm rays of console backing you though unseen.
When Thou should thinkst all is gloom and so biting,
Turn and look, there may your forlorn beam be.

I have heard from a dear friend this,
“That everyone through storms go before a Rainbow achieved.”
Think of it this, even Noah’s storm for forty days and nights did;
Take heart Dearie, your Rainbow is on due way soon you’ll see.

Seemingly beyond consolation you lay,
In your tears hidden by the feigning smile you display.
But bystanders they truly see in Thy angelic grace,
That your rainbow will come soon; hold on to your faith.

Thou art remain strong I pray,
The disconsolate Angel in all so beauty’s allure.
If so really Thou’s soul did die when he went away,
How so the world stays in awe when my eyes set on your face?

For not all will appreciate an Angel image,
Just like an unbeliever to a miracle’s envisage.
Wrong he did to you; you so unfairly perceived,
However wrong then you, because he be the one on losing’s receive.

Sometimes Love not work our way,
It’s been so since man can relate.
Not at all smooth our experiences vouch this journey,
But after each means we are closer to our fairy dreamings.

With every heart-felt pain we take away,
Lessons learned, all of which valuable to assist.
After storms, we then know better what future brings,
And what to avoid when rainbow’s gold at end we see.

“Acronym” by Esmond Ng 25/03/2005 © copyright

Whilst stars shon’d dimly in cloud cover’d sky,
the mood not dampen’d; all is still bright.
It’s really no wonder why, if by me thou would realize,
The brightest of them all would on my right.
Lays’t down admiring the beauty from nature’s eye,
if nature be me, then thou be in my sight.
Lovely would be no other word,
then she who grac’d my night.

Yonder but yet next to thee, so seems close though far it now be;
why this feeling that dawns on me?
Of these questions in which minds’t uncontroll’d wander,
omega, it still ends with thee.
Uphoria and joy that follow it,
something a feeling excites me which.

Bare footed on  a chill’d beach night,
warm the sand stays though sun has slipp’d over the horizon line.
Emphasize can’t I more describe,
the warmth that comes with thou’s sunny eyes.

My O my, where seen I those cherry lips and fair skin light;
that heaven be so bias’d put all in one?
Years may pass, Kings abdicat’d,
yet to my heart’s Queen she is perfect’d.

Varies thee may, with wonders of powder,
but in fact thou’s beauty, is the wonder creator.
All fail not see, if beauty is skin deep,
deeper than that no worries, thou has aplenty.
Like the serene of night sea tranquility,
the feeling with thee it gives to me.
Embellish’d with jewels of laughter and cheer
never not will I ever dry nor withereth.
New brings old away, a beginning which may bloom;
if given both a little way soon.
Time may wash old wounds offshore,
but time should blows’t the direction of ahead.
If sentiments are link’d like we discover’d by the bay,
thou would knows’t what I say.
Next to thee I feel somewhat a likeness of me,
maybe we be concordant harmony.
Expect more of stargazing company,
we could have more if try we gradually.

She’s a darling. She really is.
No second thoughts, no doubts about it.
Red be the colour of bloom’d rose petals,
Not close to the red of her lips.

If fair be the colour of beauty skin,
So fairer are thou’s character from which beauty brims.
Never less, only more be more;
This eternal goddess, nymph to not only the Greeks.

Lovely never knew another name.
June from winter springs.
May is just the preceeding,
From where this fair maiden begins.

Sure, the cycles will always be unchang’d,
The days, the nights, tides which fade then rise.
As death comes with winter brings,
Hastened be our meetings that winter chase’d.

But no, the sun will never be dimm’d.
Much less a cloud with linnings untrimm’d,
Ever be near to tarnish her golden beam.
No, the cold winds will never win.