Cherry

Gold is the crown that shadows her head

For it is she who carries the might

Of the sunflowers in her braided hair

And the cherries in her bike.

Over her rolling hills she sang

Raising the snout of the shrew

Which sniffed and watched the cherries fall

From her basket dyed blue,

I heard her call, such sweet a tune

No one the world could ever assume

Would beat my beat, torment my mind

And set apart my sanity to find

A dream of which I'd never seen

For Toscana's hills hold Rosaline.