He was there by the strawberry field,
As I was sitting by the window sill,
At a cafe nearby, by the hill,
Sipping tea with an orange peel.
I do not know exactly how I feel,
But I knew he gave me a chill,
That I decided to call for the bill,
And pay for my tea at the till.
I think he saw me kneel,
As I fell, feeling ill,
When he came running with zeal,
And picked me up, smelling like dill.
He held me tight with such will,
which felt like an envelope seal,
leading me to the bottom of the hill,
to where his strawberry yield.
Image from Heather Barnes on Unsplash
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