I doubt thee chance given to talk
An island lease of thou spirits beauty
Shalt Whitsunday be where we walk?
What say you our friendship meant?
Worshipp’d by us in your ageness
Kiss’d loved and adored for thy dream of that time
We must employ and bless
Ecstasy of love and touch’d of how you spoke
A philosopher of flowers with loves fine wit
Fairest dreams of lovely blooms
Such stock by roadside quit
Mishapen dreams of backhoes
Were you not some pilgrim lad?
Was that thy final death of a good hippy?
Did maturity make thee glad?
What says the pleasures gleaned?
Double or nothing and save a drunken soul
With flowers the pleasure of a world at home
Fear lost love may take its toll