you are my autumn gold, my winter's silver snow
a precious dream from secret foundry
you are my blanket of spring's lavender
preoccupying my scent of sanity

you are the midday's sun, my light the sun had rented out, 
my might from your light is your words shining on me
I owe you every letter
till I own you, the monsoon's cold overflows my debt
I wish I won you 
like an obscure hero 
whose arrows of summer's rain 
crashing the fences of dawning rays, morning-soaked dreams
hopeless

for now I can only borrow your second-hand garland from the season's hands

but with my pawned half-baked heart, 
I will wait to redeem my hopeful prize

...
will you?