A Lovely Thursday Eve

There is simply something about the way
the sunshine shimmers through your hair
golden, on a grassy knoll of Castanea Hill.
The sweetsoft touch of a mid-Spring breeze
gently dances about your curling locks,
swirling, and twirling into your gaze.
And oh! your eyes...
          ...your eyes...
              ...your eyes...
A moon not quite concealing dear Helios,
whose timid glance spills over in overtly orange,
painted deep on cerulean skies;
Only nature can craft so careful an eclipse,
and only aloft is my gaze, for I am but a bird
drifting along with no great care
for much anything below.
Just grant me this one slightest glance,
And off I shall flutter towards your Sun.