I don't miss you, but I am sorry.
You're a week weeping willow with no spine.
I have grown strong roots and am nourished naturally by love.
You are a sick remembrance of a hurting past I no longer seek.

And even without my current gardener,
I now have the tools to withstand a storm.
While you would only topple and grapple at my limbs,
Bringing me down to your own weakness.
Yet, it pains me to ask this of you,
Leave me be in my happiness.