A Portrait In May
Upon this bank where the May flower grows,
with bright orange-red poppies and marigold,
of old memories nestled in crimson hills;
The rills sigh 'neath hushed wood,
of many broken silences,
of many sweet-shadowed things;
sunlight stretching 'til yawning glade
The May queen weaves her hawthorn,
pink flowered haws, and spins her song;
Cupid stringing his arrows along
the deep delved path where the lovers stroll,
starry nights ------
to have in this little dimple of the world:
(Love was always in the growing)
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