The yard was barren.
Patchy dry grass
scattered throughout.
Scorched by the sun
there stood a corpse.
Once a green sapling,
Roots had shriveled with thirst.
It was the first rain
(Perhaps the last)
That popped a seed,
It untangled fast.
The stem, the leaves,
The bulb, finally.
He was excited
But grew concerned
\"Was the rain
Ever to return?
Another love
touched by decay
To then be taken
by death one day?\".
He thought and he wept.
His tears made the soil wet.
She blossomed, and she grew
Everynight his tears made her new.
Over the fence i peaked.
It was precious,
I was weak.
I have to touch her
if only once.
I called her,
she called me.
Her softness,
my bounty.
She was his treasure,
he was her slave.
I became death,
I made her decay.