The years will pass
crumbling what little
of us, fleeing, will remain,
youth will pass
erasing the splendour
of that time gone,
the desire to wake you up
with the scent of a rose will pass,
to run after you
among the weeping willows,
the night will pass
without longing
for the morning after,
everything will pass
without wishing anything else

and I will still want you.

18.3 . '12