An English Love

Not a rose, or a lily,
But a buttercup
Languishing in a field of gold,
In some English meadow
Waiting to give herself to him.

That boy with the impetuous smile
And the eyes of Perseus,
That hides a spirit more
Delicate than any poet’s heart.
But not from her,

Like the chalk streams of England, giving birth to the May fly
Every day is our love, our lifetime,
I celebrate the nightingale, and the wren,
For their song is our song,
Our home, this England, this love,

This place where the swallows fly their dance of love,
And where the pheasants strut in all their majesty
My words I gladly share with them

Kept safe, among the fields of gold,
Safe in our English meadow,
Intoxicated by natures glory

For your love gives meaning to my existence
Makes me more, than I am meant to be
And my poem of love I give to you.