Sweet Sue,

There is no first, or last, in Forever -
It is Centre, there, all the time -
To believe - is enough, and the right of supposing -
Take back that "Bee" and "Buttercup" - I have no Field for them, though for the Woman whom I prefer, Here is Festival - When my Hands are cut, Her fingers will be found inside -
Our beautiful Neighbor "moved" in May - It leaves an Unimportance.
Take the Key to the Lily, now, and I will lock the Rose -