Echoing down through the corridors of time,
Upon the lap I hear the sweet songs and rhymes,
Hands gathered in the stroll to the glorious bed,
Her passions emerge upon sight of her stead.
They wave and shimmer in the whispering breeze,
She nurtures the colors and fragrance of tease.
Gathering their seeds as the blooms slowly fade.
She dreams of spring when rebirth is gently made.
One hundred one seasons had drifted away,
She rests now beyond time in the eternal sway.
The flowers she loved do not cling to the grave,
I wondered about and found not where she lay,
Lost to the earth but not to the heart,
I hear her sweet whispers a love that never parts.