words written in early spring

The day, it was lazy and solemn
Over the quietly creeping brook,
Over the azure and winding brook.
She was sitting there under the maple
As the leaves fluttered into her hair,
Fell down into her dark auburn hair.
And she was warm with the light thought of knowing
That she had captured the heart of the lamb,
And of the lion that slept with the lamb.

The hourglass sits as it is counting
The time until she has wasted her fame,
‘Til the lamb no longer believes in her fame.
But she knows that her love is confirming
As the little lamb lays there asleep,
With the lion, it lays as it sleeps.
And she comforts the lamb and the lion
For they are both one in the same,
And they believe that she is the same.

The lion cannot help but love her
When she sees only the lamb in her eyes,
Her emerald talisman eyes.
And she sings ballads of love to the lamb
As the lion sits petting her hair,
Her beautiful, dark auburn hair.
How brutish and horrid the lion
Who pines for the lamb’s coat of wool,
For a beautiful, soft coat of wool.