Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
Remember the waltz we once whispered there,
Three beats to the breath of the moonlit air,
Silvered and slow, her hand lithe in mine.
Dreams spin like gowns on the worn marble floor,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
Love lingers, then glides through the half-open door,
Leaving its perfume one heartbeat more—
Tell her I’m hers, in the sway of the time.