Dearest, your doorsteps are the garden of eden, paved in bluish flowers, and when the mustard colored sunbeams, seeps through the moonlit night, it becomes the lighting array of sparkles the display as sound as a breezing waterfalls! Snows will not seep through, for I have a hope that you will hold them, as if with keeness for our fate, I shall wait till it dooms! And now lady, to hell no plays! for I am tired of your selfish ways, love at lips, a touch so near, for as long as I could bear, comeforth, I await you! Your dearest!