One peaceful warm November night
So close before the morn
The moon did watch with joyful light
Until the child was born.
When leaves of golden hue still hung
Beneath the autumn sun
I saw you first, so new and young,
My fall chrysanthemum.
The tender bud begins to grow
Like threads upon a loom,
A hidden power that will show
A thousand petals bloom.
Chrysanthemum without flaw
So beautiful to see,
But you, imperfect human raw,
Are good enough for me.
form: quatrains in common metre
meter: alternating iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter