You are in your prime, and I’m in my clime;
Why sweetie in twenty then we waste this time?
Come, dance; we can gently our pleasures hound,
For here’s a time for us to go merry-go-round.
Run around, and you’ll see how flowers bloom
And drones fly around wanting for some room;
Birds, herds, and all love while their time is high,
So come sweetie; in delay, our prime will sigh.
Moon smiles and night palls a velvet blue veil
And owls and curlews sing in a choric wail;
Xylophones and cymbals bounce for our dance,
So come sweetie; let’s dive in a hypnotic trance.
Copyright © August 16, 2020, Newton Ranaweera
Image source: Pixabay