It's Never Too Late

She’s dressed in floral like the spring that put the spirit of youth in everything like April showers and sunshine bring in starry nights the nightingales sing. Whiffs of scent the breeze thus bring to hear the brook’s gentle murmuring, In my wild ecstasy I dance and swing as if stung too soon by bee’s sharp sting, While this poet’s feet are tired wandering after wearisome years of pain and suffering not knowing what fate in later seasons bring vainly trying to fly like a kite on the string. At your bidding, My Lady, comes spring let me delightfully indulge in a final fling lest my soul fly away like a bird on wing unfulfilled at heart as dead desires bring.