My Dear Poets

If I could compose a symphony for thee, my dear poets, twixt the heavens and the earth we would dance. A garth of stars would gather about thy beauty, my dear poets, Wilt thou be my love for all eternity? We shall hearken to the ways of love, ere we drift asunder, holding only our hearts. Forsooth, we never die. Dost the seed knoweth the ways in which it becomes a tree? We too shall shed this mortal form and thrive amongst the forest of immortal beings, my dear poets.