This hour of the night feeds me pain; I grieve for her, in vein
a river, when she did flow nearer, I floated on,  one could hope
only for an ablution, she washed away sedimented pain,
then, in a hurry broke away making waters muddied,
making things unclear, she becomes a rush towards other destinations.
A flower of arresting beauty, a scent never forgotten,
one would  be horrified by the thought of plucking her to keep for oneself.
but as one stands watching, she withers, loses color, falls after a while
as a fruit, she entices, eaten by passing avaricious birds
she is reduced to seeds strewn near and far and peeled off skin.