Love At The Hour, Chrysanthemum Poem by james watkin

Word of it unfurled, far warbling's high tone
As that spring notable, youth's is spoke of.
Seed of it fulfilled, warmed up skies past.
At the hour, Chrysanthemum. Such, our love.

Whose for the pointing on the floral dial
When sap, no flood-tide, loth to congeal!
Leaf-times'green-effaced, still hanging vivid!
Vine's in hazed content. Vine's of oozed appeal!

Heart's yield, long promised, longer than for most!
Not less valued, what's not of our choosing!
More the pick, rather, for what's off one's hands
To mature as fate; and so be excusing.