Another year briskly it’s time again,
How age catches outruns our each day.
On not how each candle adds to date,
But on our virgin meet 27 shinings away.

5 and 2 months; resemblance to yesterday,
Though blink of eye, yours vividly remain.
I wonder if the flowers its’ scent will one day,
Be erased; forgotten, our Time in some place.

Know not when this silence of summer’s night fade,
My memories they bring me to that very first fate.
And before Time its habit to slip away,
This year once again, wishings; a Happy Birthday.

Miraculous it may seem,
Fate works its ways in us beings.
For never did I imagine could be,
What I seek’d in front of me.

Once I hanker’d and once I did receive,
Paints of memories and etch’d it did.
An innocent Romeo & Juliet story,
Coincidences in most everything.

Like the end of tragic Love stories,
Too ours perhaps guileless and naïve.
But these flowers its’ scent can’t be erased,
Even long after they’re gone we had our Time in some place.

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.

The first being you my eyes see,
That such is sense sweet of sight.
That Love they say blind is,
Nay I say for you not their visions find.

Secondly the serene sound of Thee,
Voice as choir concordant pleasing.
That all who chance hear of such music,
Shall no longer stray but choose near stay it.

Third my nose will first recognize,
That scent of fresh on Thy skin fine.
Which lingers as flowers in Spring,
Luscious I remember will always seem.

That fourth sense of touch never can forget,
The sensations when skins they match.
Cause hearts to beat uncontrollably,
And breaths hastened to the beats.

Only once did our lips meet,
Yet this fifth feeling is forever engraved deep.
The taste of innocent lips,
The pervading taste of Love’s reach.

Such are five senses commonly said,
But one more true that is the sixth.
That the one truth from the heart Love speaks,
Is the one which overrules all the preceding.

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.

Your promise to me, I cling on dearly;
Like a babe’s insecurity away from His mother’s embracing peace.
Your promise to me, I wish realized daily;
That each second passes, I die more so gradually.

In song, quando when Thee be mine?
Quando tornerete? My moments a day, my days truly a lifetime.
For in song seems improbable this relation be,
But in Life this be my soul song that sings.

When He simile’d that each thought of Thee a flower be,
That He then a garden could have beautiful and big.
I tell Thee this: “That my garden no smaller than His,”
“That my garden gardened duly due to Thee.”

I thinks’t not any little less of my baby,
Not today, these days or what tomorrow be.
That added frownings I want not for Thee,
Thus back to my secret garden I wait admirably;
My garden kept watered by your promise to me.