I met you in the springtime of my solitude
in the tender grass, before the flowers bloomed.
came without intruding, and gently touched my hand,
never even startled me, for it seemed that you belonged.
then one sunny morning a flower budded forth.
by her radiance, I plucked her by the roots,
kept her in a jar, so I could watch her constantly,
in the jar she wilted, and faded far from me.
virginity of my solitude thus raped by a flower bright,
went to pick another who faded overnight.
you watched me pick a third one who wilted as before,
in our constant garden your roots were taking hold.
saw me falling in and out of love with every one,
wondered at the transience of love inside a jar.
in my times of solitude I see just where you are,
in the tender grass, my ever-constant friend.