The wind caresses these plains of green
There in the morn is silver dew
The dew remaining from fair maiden’s spleen
Are pearls of forgotten loves, lost, I knew.
'Though their tears remain, the maidens have long gone away
And to their health these tears I drink everyday.
Among the fruits of their sadness briar rabbits play
Thus unknowing we live our lives merry and gay
And forget the wars that trample the ground
With all of it's lost riches that we have found.
Let us live our lives as we would,
And remember the lost ones as we should;
Let us live our lives as if we could...
Peony in RI from recent trip.