I ask her

 

Before the sun could rise,

Amidst the melodious cries,
Rowing a boat with her,
Her gentle sweet demur.

I hold her soft hands in mine.
She hides when the sun shines,
Hiding the bright mustard rays,
I hold her in a tight embrace.

Rivers lead us to the mountains
Where spring's sweet, wild shower reigns.
I offer a bouquet of flowers,
"Are we fit to be lovers?"
I ask.
I ask her.