Perfect Paradox

I'll sing of rose colored dandies, and of peonies in November,

Of purple candied clouds, and blood oranges in September.

But nothing takes away the thought of what we know could be,

and nothing casting nothing, gets nothing back you see?

I'll write of perwinkle growing under a mossy pine,

and pale blue tulips curling like they're on a vine.

Still that moment comes creeping to morning and evening thought,

of the beauty and the wonder, that was so diligently fought.

I'll dance with leaves of palm trees swaying in the arctic air,

and penguins in the desert without a single care.

I'll talk of starry seas that go miles in the deep,

and ocean filled skies that always make me weep. 

But I'll never stop hoping for when we'll be together,

and I'll whisper to the empty even if it's til forever.