Chance had little part to play with my knowing this man I love, in the small town of our paddy field farmers. Such a pleasant boy he was. We danced in the barn, coyly sipped some wine and watched the night sky. He was happy here with me. Sealing our fate with a band in my finger. We built that house together on the outskirts of the paddy field. He made me a crown of roses and kissed my hands. Meandering thoughts of a meagre livelihood but bountiful tranquility calmed me.
He put his head on my lap as I sat by the brook collecting autumn leaves of maple. I told him about an angel on the way, we danced in the brook that day. The bush-fairies danced to our tune and made magic in the breeze.
Then, the sun rapidly left us. I sat alone by the brook. The wind sometimes brought me his love as it touched my skin. The pixies would often hum our tune and the water would just sadly moan.
It came! I saw him again with all the pretty innocence. But he would not sing to me. I took him to the brook and he would not embrace me. The magic here made our angel inside dance every time, I took his hand to feel and yet the euphoria I envisioned was amiss.
I sent a good man, hearty and whole; nonetheless, the war has sent back my man in a box. I sat by the brook as the fairies covered him up with maple leaves. I said goodbye and the sun forever set in my bliss.