Meet me,

Deep in the arboretum,
Between those majestic orants,
Praising the sun and air.

Wait under that crumbling arch,
The one whose body shivers
At the first touch of wind.

Sing softly that succulent tune,
(The one that blurs my eyes
with thoughts of home)
So the wind can whisper your arrival.

Do not take long,
Or you may miss me.

Time, that ancient thief of youth and vigor,
May clasp his knarled hands around us both.
And we many never become free from him again.