·´.¯`°*·.¸¸.·°.·.·°·.^.·°·.·.°·.¸¸.·*°´¯.`·

I can write no stately poem.
As a plelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem

I would dare to say.
For if of these fallen petals
One to you seem fair

Love will waft it till it settles
On your hair.
And when wind and

and winter harden
All the loveless land.

(Emily Dickinson)