Wayfaring souls wander, tracing trails of fate,
In the wilderness of wild geese, hearts take a vow,
In the garden of wallflowers, a warning,
Wayfaring whispers at the Whitney Farm Estate,
A white dress dances between yellow curtains,
Amidst white phlox, a delicate, floral grace.
At the Whitney, echoes of love.
A warm winter sunset paints the sky in hues,
Why must the slim spring rains fall now?
A white dress and dreams, in moonlight spread.
A winter sunset, a canvas of fire and gold,
Words of winter woven in the silent whispers
of wallflowers and wayfarers, as wild geese migrate.
Words of winter turned cold.
The wallflower blooms in the fading light.
Fleet are seashore dreams, secrets
beneath the pale cool stars, and beach plums.
Why must the slim spring rains fall now?
A Title Constraint Poem
WoPoLi 
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