The Offer

In this time when cold winter pushes on
trying to replace the slowly-paced fall
and not all the leaves are fallen and gone,
you sweet lady shouldn't have come at all.


I have no tools nor proper endeavour
to make front to this pressure in my heart
and this poetry; this work, this labour
seems doomed to its failure before its start.


Sweet little princess because you in me
but a shadow, a ghost that in past would
to you have meant something worthy, now see
and not the bursting love I, offer could.


Sweetheart, yellow hang the hands of the trees
and as you pass me by, I'll just look at the full blue sky
'cause somewhere in your chest my chance did freeze.