By: Amoureax Amant
Mountain wore pale snow hat, dressed in roses,
seemed like bride masked with gauze, dressed in bride dress,
with tender-token breath in fragrant sea,
and dew of love formed lake which drank like tea.
Mountain filled with cinnamon trees by fall,
whose branches filled with sweet cinnamon petal,
to whom sweet petal spread frangrance in night,
and night sans stars emerged brighter moonlight.
You were a rose blossomed by my window,
whose petal never touched cold drifting snow,
nor saw once seeds of rose hid in snow bed,
but felt sunshine from hot sun overhead.
Each rose I planted was yearning to you,
cinnamon tea you cooked was honeydew.