Ode For S.
Sun ripened strawberries on vines grow wild in her yard.
Kiss'd by the sun, have a rosy glow.
Do they feel the sunshine? I want to know.
Climbing with difficulty up those walls crumbling with age, there the largest grow.
The manor house looks inviting in the summer's wind. Dreams like strawberry wine fill the day and night keenly without end.
The house is for sale, should I buy it? It is grand and has strawberries, and is queenly fit.Old pink taffeta wall paper stale, yet sweet; almost too perfect.
Even so, if it is broken, or truly causes a haunt or fright, as long as it's mine, it is right.
There is nothing there for me to shun, nor thistles on the walk beneath the sun. A place for he and I alone, as one.