She is my pretty passion flower,
my rare, romantic rose.
I will not pluck her thoughtlessly
from garden where she grows.
Instead, I’ll simply idolise,
appreciate and praise,
sit down by sea to study her
on still September days.
She is my pretty passion flower,
my lotus in the mire.
She will not take offence at me
If sometimes I do tire.
I know that she won’t hold a grudge,
fall out with me or weep.
She’ll go on being beautiful
while I am sound asleep.
And when I wake refreshed again
she’ll still sit there serene.
My mild, majestic passion flower,
my faithful, floral queen!