Hydrangea's Cry

A whispering heart of morgue,

breathe the empathy that seeps through illusive love,

In dandelions mist, sits suns waking dawn,

For a life without love is a life not to come.

With eyes that seek the soul, take me,

with love that heals my woes, enchant me,

I do not know myself without he,

and he does not know my heart to be free.

In summers delight the hydrangea’s cry,

and in winters frost, stars hold them nigh,

From gardens of heaven where lovers once fled,

to rest in a field, where their twin hearts once bled.