Feb 5
1 min read
The Wandering Poet
He Breaks the Soil but Never Breaks His Heart
a quatern
I tended you, a flower in my heart;
your roots delved deep and I could never mind
the loss of blood. I loved to see you grow.
We were enough; I was content to go
through spring and spring again. We had no snow.
I tended you, a flower in my heart.
And all was good, a minute or a month,
we never had enough. We were…
