I was once a vine,
clinging to you-my tree.
When you cut me loose I died,
and in that I was free.
In this life I am the tree,
and you my dear, the vine.
Now it is I that need let you die;
cruel are the paths of the divine.
Another life, I pray,
comes just around the bend.
Yet if we do not meet, know,
your memory can not end.
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 4:14 PM UTC
I was once a vine,
clinging to you-my tree.
When you cut me loose I died,
and in that I was free.
In this life I am the tree,
and you my dear, the vine.
Now it is I that need let you die;
cruel are the paths of the divine.
Another life, I pray,
comes just around the bend.
Yet if we do not meet, know,
your memory can not end.
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