It’s not that I want you for myself, or that I don’t want you to be held by another
Though when I saw the photograph entitled Magic Garden I sort of hoped it could have been yours
That you would be there, barefoot in the early morning sun
That one afternoon, some time ago, you would have danced free, and scattered the wild flower seeds
Of course a certain part of me still hopes that you reflect well on our time together
Even though our cottage plot did not have time to bloom, before we had to leave
This is a poem from Vagaries:
Love of The Key to Room 149