'Tis morn

One can't shake the warm lilies' breeze

Or breath soft down her neck;

She relents

And thus the window opens

The roses sweet cry raise

Bumps of evergolds upon his face

Her cheeks

Red as the petals, hence flushed

Their garden intertwines

Flowers stems petals

Like the coming of spring;

Blossom

And the flush as simmering

Do close the sweetened grasp

Upon the coming of winter

In the lovers garden