I know we’re too tall to get married under this tree,

But at least come sleep with me under it.

Who knows what effect the moon may have.

Sometimes it’s so bright that

Mimosas bloom at night,

And who could tell with the smell

Of wisteria so heavy in the lightened air.

Some say there is a stairway to heaven,

But others say the Psyche is a butterfly 

With her own wings, and doesn’t need

Contraptions of any kind to find her way

To any place she truly longs to be.

And I know we’re too tall to get married under this tree.

But, at least, come sleep with me, under it.

-jenn