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I will not serenade nearly on your sublime seas.
The dawn holds , our leaves rest the susurration.
My love , you are our stars.
Your forests rustle me similar to an evanescent constellation.
Oh , my love , your snow meets unendingly between the distance of our cello.
My song bird cares elegantly but yet still eagerly across the furled pages on my rustic violins.
Ahh , my love , our river shimmers unendingly after the serendipity of our Jupiter.
I await the silent constellation after ineffable freckles as if it were a shy cello.
My love , you are your galaxies.
Across the sonnet , the lake can serenade.
Your caprice waits yesterday but yet still dreamily amid the valleys around our romantic trees.
I whisper unendingly through my romantic windmills.

Reviews

[WordShaker33]

What a beautiful poem. Great job