I was too busy loving you
To ever notice the signs . . .
The frost forming in the vineyard,
The snow gathering in the pines

So busy was I loving you,
I didn't notice the smoke;
The fire had burned out long ago,
Leaving only embers to stoke

And then there was that lovely rose
You and I planted in the Spring;
While I was busy loving you,
I failed to see it withering

To our garden, without warning
There came clouds obstructing my sight;
Too busy was I loving you
To foresee the approaching blight

There's nothing left to salvage now,
Just withered vines  where love once grew;
Why did I not see this coming?
I was too busy loving you!