Ang oh Ang,
You truely are the floral man.
Women would be dancing,
if only you were aspen.
Your love of loves,
holds your hand in foxgloves,
or in marigolds
as passion unfolds.
They would only but dream,
at a glance of your hornbeam.
They would never cower,
if they saw your bellflower.
She would be Hazel or Lily of the valley,
her Motherwort would drive you doo lally.
She would be a Virginian cowslip
laughing at your periwinkle drip.
in time she may become a dragon plant
A toad flax or an ele-phant.
But fear not, Ang, my floral friend,
she may be forget-me-nots until the end.
