Part I - The Rape of Solitude

To Mary

To Mary To Mary

I met you in the springtime of my solitude

Walking in the tender grass, before the flowers bloomed.
You came without intruding, and gently touched my hand,
And never even startled me, for it seemed that you belonged.

And then one sunny morning a flower budded forth.
Startled by her radiance, I plucked her by the roots,
And kept her in a jar, so I could watch her constantly,
But in the jar she wilted, and faded far from me.

The virginity of my solitude thus raped by a flower bright,
I went to pick another who faded overnight.
And you watched me pick a third one who wilted as before,
While in our constant garden your roots were taking hold.

You saw me falling in and out of love with every one,
And wondered at the transience of love inside a jar.
Yet in my times of solitude I see just where you are,
Walking in the tender grass, my ever-constant friend.

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