I still remember that first sunrise
That you shot at me like a deadly glance.
Oh, you are vanilla sweet and wise,
I listen to your history and dance.

Now you wait for me
With your premature spring;
I look up and see -
Green is a good thing

Because you smell of color green:
Of some forbidden grass and wet leaves,
Steamy passions and spleen
Of thunderstorms that the sky heaves.

Mister Twain was more than right,
You are a southern belle or beau
Wrapped in blossoms, a fine sight.
Wonder why my answer is a "no".


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