The mere thought of her troubles me
How she derides me with her grace
The spontaneous combinations of colors and hues
A divinity she is
How dare God misplace

Whispering winds winding about
Only a breath away from my ear
I beg of her to draw closer
I could hear so much if she was clear

I assume mysteries must be of her delight
For I hear the falling of the rain
Those busy body bees
But where on earth is this unwonted creature responsible for my mental strife

My contemplation must humor her
Women and their games
Mother's rosebush thrived with life just yesterday
And today they droop, lifeless, from their stems all the same

I bathe in her sweet perfume of honey sickle and lemon meringue
Every day for three months in a year
Mother laughs at what she calls tom-foolery
But I know one day I'll make her my dear

Sometimes I try to envisage a life with me and her together
But in all my years she's never been committed
With her preferences varying from plant life to weather
And might I mention, that sudden rage of heat waves that transcend into summer
My curiosity, she arouses
For I'm a man who wonders

My mother does assure me of one thing
If not anything else
The closest I'll get to this captivating beauty
Is when I'm buried deep within her nest,
During my deep and slumber rest.

Bittersweet, this all may seem
But I must believe that in time, I'll see
The true epitome of the beauty of spring
In the face of the woman that I will one day receive.