My first [1.6.15]
I came to see you in the garden, for I’d never felt so alone.
To smell the daffodils and roses and sense how simply they’d grown.
With the walls around me climbing, up and up into the sky; It was there to thee I whispered “Will I see you when I die?”
Around I looked and searched again, not knowing you’d yet flown. For I came looking in the garden for a pebble or a stone.
To place in my pocket still so empty.
Place in a hand, drenched with deep despair.
I came looking in the garden...for something I thought I remembered forgetting there.
But my timing was too casual and my feet not quick enough. The garden presented to me a muddied ground and dirtied muck.
So maybe I left too early or arrived a little bit too late.
Maybe the garden would have prospered if I’d cared enough about the state of the daffodils and roses I dreamt smelling with you near.
Instead I came into the garden to find you’d not again be here.