The garden blooms with bushes so plump,
But why do you haunt me wherever I stomp?
The rain's scent, arrows of downpouring might,
Leaves tremble beneath this watery sight.
I wander with flowers so fair and divine,
Their features, oh, so much like thine.
Our time is fleeting, a short reprieve,
Before the sun finally takes its leave.
I wish to touch, to lose myself in the leaves,
But why does this pain now refuse to leave?
For I’m friends with roses, we get along fine,
Yet their thorns still sting, a cruel design.
Perhaps it's not the roses but you, the cause,
That my soul is pierced and finds no pause.