How could I forget,
The timid flower buds,
That bloom late spring,
And fill the plain meadows,
With a vibrancy of colour.
How could I forget,
To pluck one wilting stem,
From the blackest earth,
And keep it trapped,
Between my thumb,
And forefinger.
How could I forget,
To tear off the fragile petals,
And sing to myself,
As if I was still a child,
A song that allowed,
Not even fractured belief.
How could I forget,
He loves me not.