Oh Prophets, come pronounce your orisons,
and meanwhile, I'll mend the harps,
let these winds sing of enchantment,
and let us create melodies
I feel loved today. Again.
I'll go pluck some stars, to brighten up my rusty tiara,
and will borrow some flamboyant shades from rainbows
to adorn my pale old gown.
Till then you dear clouds, build a little cottage to me,
where I and my darling can talk peacefully.
I'll wear the scent of lilies, dried,
I've kept them safe for years, he gifted when he last met.

Oh, Sleeping lavenders, pain laden peonies and dull...