Marigold

Tenderness your gaze,
rewards the prime of my youth.
Sentimental my phrase,
A marigold, I brushed at your every praise.

Nostalgia, now filling my breath,
This path, ruled by millions alluring roses,
glowing laurel and vines mingled close.
With billion stars swinging above us,
Dear one, I ever wondered,
Who would be so pleased with a humble marigold? 

Nowhere exceptional, 
She is as simple as her name signal,
Marigold,
Pure orange her veil,
Stunning gold her pupil.
Lacking that of seductive aura, of romantic aroma,
is her greatest weakness.

Yet, Stubborn always as she contrives,
to match the brilliant pastel of beaming lights.
Becoming a daughter of that unflinching sun,
must have been the sweetest dream she’s ever sung.
Undissolved, is some unfathomable faith she lives on.

Bright and coy, retreating her nature.
But it was neither pride nor plight,
That held her back and tight.
You see, the sun hasn’t shone upon her for a lifetime.
But what has left unsaid is that,
Darling,
You make my heart smile,
when you’d recite for this marigold of mine.
My heart swoon,
When you invited me to bloom

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