That is the path I've chosen,
covered with soft blades of grass
hedged with variegated hostas,
and moonlight filtering
through hanging willow trees.
The winding path tilts slightly uphill,
towards a wooden pergola
that glimmers in the darkness,
a temple built in paradise
for my lovely Marguerite.
I have planned my life's purpose,
I know so clearly the urge to live,
my priceless gift from Cupid
cleansing the humdrum of this life.
The nightingale enlivens the silence,
full moon oozes limpid serenity,
the glow worms twinkle lovingly
like a myriad of faraway stars.
A lonely breeze caresses my face
but cannot quench the thirst
nor quell the boiling of my blood
nor the hunger I feel for her.
I gaze upon her lovely face
Chiaroscuro in the moonbeams
A painting mightier than any Madonna
that emanated from Fra Filippo Lippi
Or an intimate impression by Renoir.
Yet like these famous portraits of old
Our love forever will survive.