teen love poem

the mountains they are silent folk
a little peach in the orchard grew
gone are the three, those sisters rare
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
he'd even have his joke
be not angry with me
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
some of the hurts you have cured
to the passionate lover
star-dust and vaporous light
uplifting, as the wind blew