Undergrowth with Two Figures -Van Gogh

Describe what you see my love, she queries A game they often play in the depths of the forest He replies, Turgid are the woodlands densely they’ve died back creeping where no life is seen, between the flowery meadow's cracks The poplars have shed their leaves leaving violet trunks bare For it isn’t rare, sun light that shan’t filter thru the canopy Entrapped is the pale old plant ivy green However, the white roses striving and yet flutily parade whilst tolerating the languorous shade As he describes his innermost inhibitions without interference or shame In the distance, expanding their horizons together Both aware 'tis a harbinger of the end game