March, is it really you?

March, is it really you?
Twelvemonth I loved thee true!
By yonder hill I awaited thee,
Tell me is it I you have come to see?

Haste

Under rain, with haste, in haze,
Sought I his gallant gaze,
And I pace and pace with mindless craze,
Over a man devoid of rays!
I burn, I churn, I toss and turn for days!
Consumed by a mild fever set ablaze!
One stare meets mine, then another strays,
Rid me, God, of this game he plays.

Play

Play I played,
I took a stranger,
and turned him a game.
Sway I swayed
Him like a marionette,
To acquire my fame.

Chapter 27

She lives her days in sweet pursuit,
to pluck wild daisies and call them hers!
She tends to the garden and its fruit,
Of golden mangoes, tangerines and pears!
Chapter seven and twenty now follows suit,
I pray no sorrow to dwell her heart dares.

Harbinger of Hope

Harbinger of hope,
the promise of healing,
and the wash of rain,
after a drought.
It was Spring
in all his glory,
and on his lap rests Nature,
in her girlish prime,
humming to his sweet nothings.

Rosy head

Pensive his gaze
Sweet his tread;
Bees rush to kiss,
His rosy head!

Damask rose

She was a red, damask rose,
The finest bud Damascus has bred,
Nay—I daresay she was the fairest of all Levantine combined.

Younglings and earthly things

Younglings and earthly things,

Fairy tears and pixie dust,

Heed a lad in my heart sings,

Crown him mine if you must.

Twenty and seven

Twenty and seven,

Betwixt earth and heaven,

Nestles a dame in eternal bliss.

March First

March the first,

Teem my thirst!

I want in your love,

To be immersed!