what a beautiful thing it is to have loved,
before winters demise and thoroughly through spring
but before i plucked petals from the flower-- i already knew
and yanked the flower from its roots
because you trampled all over them. My prince,
you trampled over them as i held you at the
summit of mount olympus.
i opted to put that very flower in my hair and
ran away singing,
what a beautiful thing it is to have loved.