Love, in all its majesty,
Hast bended to one knee,
And offered soul a flower.
For my soul, it was thee.

And softly shone the moonlight there,
On every drop of dew,
That graced the petals of flowers fair,
The kiss of colors through.

Love, in all its unfair jest,
Knows this flower just past reach,
Glowing silver-amber hues,
With sweet scent to beseech.

The flower that never withers then,
The love that never dies,
Just beyond my fingertips,
The unattained prize.

As I exist beyond thine reach,
My own petals as well,
Offering promises of heaven,
And all the loss of hell.

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