It was the spring,
And it was love.
I was well of age
But remained a child
When it came to matters of love.
We spent our days
In the aroma
Of the greenest fields
Surrounded by the most
Well groomed flowers.
I had picked a flower for her that day.
The blossom in her hair
Has become a daily
Photograph in my mind.
The flower served as example.
For the reason that everything fades.
The flower, the spring, and love.
But also that whatever dies,
New life comes about.
There will always be
Another flower to be picked,
The spring shall come again,
And love is eternal.