A tulip blooms

In the effervescent sunshine of my heart,

A ray of light I alone

Could not have created,

For not until the birds no longer sing,

Or until the trees no longer grow,

Will my infatuation know its limits. 

Your hair a melancholic autumn,

Shades of brown and hues of amber,

Your heart

A forgotten winter,

Made not by you,

But by those that came before I,

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