Young Love

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...