Sun Vines

God, I miss your sun vines
 Blowing through the dark pines
 Tangled in my low boughs
 Windy trails of blossoms climb
 Out of the forest glade, into the orange grove
 Sewing goldenrod through the wreate that you wove
 The crest of your forehead is simply adorned
 All the flowers of the field, go
 Oh, for the bloom of April, the balm of August!
 The oil of citrus, I taste upon the corner of your mouth
 December, such a windy glare
 In a tempest, stripping all my raiments bare
 Splintering the upshoot and the tender
 Scattering the first fruits that were gathered
 Out of the bramble, and the sticker brush
 You the remove the thistle from my collar and push
 Me out where the briar and the thorn cannot remain
 Oh, the whistle meadow and the long grass!
 Oh, for the bloom of April, the balm of August!
 The oil of citrus, I taste upon the corner of your mouth
 December, such a windy glare
 In a tempest, withering the remnant share
 Splintering the offshoot of my branches
 Cause the ruddy in my cheeks to blanch
 And are you satisfied?
 Are you finished here?
 You're scattering the fruit of my Jubilee Year!