Wednesday, 16 July 2014

Branched!

Like the sly morning sun bathing in its own glory,
Like the wry moon submerged in its own cadence,
Like the penitent whose penance is his only destiny,
Oh dear belle your ravissant came from whence,

Enamored to you is this entire world's trail,
Your penchant for ebullience and your swathing redolence,
Crestfallen seem the stars today, thin, fickle and frail,
For even life is no more than a minion, bowing to your ebullience,

Your seething beeline flair like the contours of a chalice,
Your turgidly swaying hair like an undulatory hassle,
The motley of your colors and their ensuing malice,
For even troubles seem no more than a mere vassal,

Within the realm of ye mirth and your pleasant mellow,
I shall dream and the gleam of my life shall be born,
For your golden gush like the zany zest in bellow,
Ye shalt extricate me, ye shall be my sine qua non.