What a sweet and delicate thing,
Is a flower in the spring.
Soft and gentle open wide,
Multicolored for the bride.

It sits there softly in her hair,
Beaming brightly in the air.
Guests all sigh when they recall,
That virgin flower that enthralled.

When the groom first spies that beauty,
He smiles wide; as is his duty.
Both hands meet beneath the bower;
A fair wedding with a flower.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With the winter comes loss and snow,
The two lovers not in control;
In the bleak air they loose their way,
And fall down on that fateful day.

Drifting apart through frost and ice,
The bride and groom are in a vice.
No more flowers, only cold,
Lost are the virtues once set in gold.

The wild, ungrateful lust springs free,
A separation and decree,
That all who love will fall apart.