Poetry

How sadly I have been absent in this spring
while new sprouts and flowers were rising
when the loveliest hot days you have seen
and our love had been a struggling withering thing
 
and how stripped like winter have our lives been
without a hot summer day between
while our love should have been at its prime
as a plant that is with new growth green
 
and yet it was if there was in destiny no time
and to everything just the coldest deadliest clime
but in hope I am still waiting on you
to forgive every word and every kind of crime
 
that you do hold true to me
but does actually lie in your own insecurity.