Harvest

Sir Morose

In the betrothal of the day and the sun, in the joyous harvest of you and me, We stroll the garden drunk on kisses. The confidence of my love is lathered over your skin. And in the lush mystery of your eyes, the Tulips and chrysanthemums dole out smiles. And my Every pore and every breath and every strand of hair and this heart beating are but eager fingertips that gleefully reap the wonders in this bountiful garden of life.

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