The Final Fling
She’s dressed in floral like the spring
that put the spirit of youth in everything
like April showers and sunshine bring
and in starry nights the nightingales sing.
Whiffs of scent the breeze thus bring
to hear the brook’s gentle murmuring,
In my wildest ecstasy I dance and swing
as if stung too soon by bee’s sharp sting,
While this poet’s feet are tired wandering
after wearisome years of pain and suffering
not knowing what fate in later seasons bring
vainly trying to fly like a kite on the string.
At your bidding, My Lady, comes spring
let me delightfully indulge in a final fling
lest my soul fly away like a bird on wing
unfulfilled at heart as dead desires bring.