Of Huns And Suns

It is true, my hon that not all of them, really will be chipper and fun so consider this freely when you sit on your bun in the morning's wee hours that I may be the hun who, like soft April showers when all's said and all's done would gift-wrap you in flowers so when down goes our sun the unwrapping brings joy and, done slowly, is fun you won't be my toy you're second to none. And your smile is the web that our friendship has spun thus there is no low ebb or displeasure to shun you ask about reading another one wrong which reminds me of needing to hear a love song. And the sun will not grow inside your pink soul I know this is so as the sun is so whole and you are such perfection as those secret vibes told so my own predilection is your heart, made of gold.