The delicate pink flowers fall upon my head,
Those sweet little blossoms garnish me a bed
I swirl, and twine them through my caramel hair,
You may wake me from my future slumber, but only if you dare

A wind briskly brushes your bright magenta fruit with snow,
Yet I feel no climate cold, my bod still immersed in your glow
Your think thrusting thorns would pinch, were I not numb,
For soon I will slip into slumber, hoping sweet dreams to come

A sweet simple nectar, slithers to my tongue,
Leaving my starkly senses rich, and sequentially young.
Buzz, buzz, a bubbling bee, bounces through the air,
For the nectar that I sparingly sipped was hers, for that I am now aware

Buzz, buzz, she dances through my amber locks,
Thinking I am a blossom, or maybe she just mocks
Buzz, buzz, making my ears now ring till sore,
Ending with the sway of my wrist, making me cry the more

My crying is ceased with the smile of a nymph, who in the cherry tree lives,
And I dry my tears with the florid cloth, for which to me He gives
His gossamer caramel eyes greet me with a thoughtful stare,
Those eyes, smoldering like smokestacks, are more then I can bare.

Seasons come, and seasons pass, beneath that tree I do stay,
In seemingly eternal sleep, slipping into Siddhartha’s trance along the way
Dreaming of lilac plumbs, carelessly hanging from Elle’s vein,
And of the earth that fills my lungs, bringing ecstasy with its reign