When he spoke of his love, the words flew from his lips
like silver butterflies in the morning sun
And when she heard he was speaking of her, she shuddered
and giggled with girlish laughter, while the pink blossoms
on the trees in the May garden caught the wind and
were blown to her feet...
And it was during that summer that the lovers lie beneath the aspens
which rustled like crinolines of ladies at an afternoon tea
as fingers of breezes played with their hair as
entwined they lie on the green bank of Avon
while overhead a flock of white doves flew up
and wrote the names of the raven haired girl and the golden
locked boy in the heavenly blue sky, as they peacefully slept
in each other's arms...