I'm not sure whether it will wither
in this weather, or live in our love.

Deeply, to regret or care, or pray
for the mere sight and touch, hers.

I blush, she always does, it seems.
If this is love, if not, I know it means a lot.

Uncertainty in distance, a long way.
Do I even dare to tell or say, it hurts,
to stay away.