Sun Vines

God, I miss your sun vines
Blowing through the dark pines
Tangled in my low boughs
Windy trails of blossoms climb
Out of the forest glade, into the orange grove
Sewing goldenrod through the wreate that you wove
The crest of your forehead is simply adorned
All the flowers of the field, go
Oh, for the bloom of April, the balm of August!
The oil of citrus, I taste upon the corner of your mouth
December, such a windy glare
In a tempest, stripping all my raiments bare
Splintering the upshoot and the tender
Scattering the first fruits that were gathered
Out of the bramble, and the sticker brush
You the remove the thistle from my collar and push
Me out where the briar and the thorn cannot remain
Oh, the whistle meadow and the long grass!
Oh, for the bloom of April, the balm of August!
The oil of citrus, I taste upon the corner of your mouth
December, such a windy glare
In a tempest, withering the remnant share
Splintering the offshoot of my branches
Cause the ruddy in my cheeks to blanch
And are you satisfied?
Are you finished here?
You're scattering the fruit of my Jubilee Year!