Don’t care who he was, from where.
Don’t care whether love was it or why.
I guess I won him at some fair.
I guess I had for him to touch the sky.
I was too fast to rich obsessive hope.
I made it over with the way to plight.
And to the deadline it was happy lope.
O, with my love I looked a sight!
But no regrets. Just dying flowers.
Just lily- petals aren’t white.
I cut the stem of it as cut that hours.
And now every day I turn around the night.