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.

Lavender, color of pale violet;
Pallid my checks without sight of thee.
Yet ye color of radiance beams,
On thy face is what long I to see.

Wildly commonly cultivat’d,
So wild my bushes burn for thee.
Tardily the bush fires my heart in,
Eats up single every ounce of me.

Its oil produce from which,
Makes luscious what perfumes need.
With each squeeze of the purple dream,
Comes each true feeling felt for thee.

Lavandula, fragrant really to me,
Not because of smells to flowers sweet;
But for meanings within thee thou has to agree,
That my Love, you equal as to it.