You saw me in your path, oh Poet.
I was the first flower of April.
The thirst of the love that seeks
kept aflame your thoughts and lips.
I was the first flower. My fountain
of reflections was locked, my heart
only, innocent and adored, could talk
when that first gaze you've sent my way.
In time, your lust for me you dared
get close to admit. Alas,
we were the children of our epoch. Our heart
would love with a passion that sought
to take, we felt that in a hideous way
and our gazes have drifted apart.
The image taken from here.
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