I treat you reader, come adore the
mesmerising view of my dreamer,
posing as elegant as the setting
on which we lie. Six out of seven days
she lets me drift over her clearer
side (except on those when it rains).
In Autumn she loves to change her dress,
but being bound in her bed, others must
learn to dress her. She loves to cheat, as
each day another is allowed to glide over,
lazily adoring what they disturbed.
"Oh horror," I do cry, "she is my only
valentine", as I thrust out for my
evening drift, watching the ripples flow by.