Jorothy

Returning home across a summer meadow,
a pleasant feeling I did receive,
On getting there and meeting you,
More beauty did I then percieve.

The smell of flowers still in my knowing,
from the daisies of the field,
On meeting you a new sense growing,
How my love for you was real

In your hair the south wind blowing,
In your eyes the deep dark stream,
in your voice the soft stream flowing,
in my heart you are my dream.

Take then this, a buttercup,
that you would hold my love for you,
picked from nature's golden garden,
fresh with colour and wet with dew,

So it says not all it should,
yet had it not been taken,
would have withered ne'r been seen,
it's message never spoken.

A token never used at all-
perhaps our love foresaken.
A flower of me losing you,
perhaps my heart then broken.