In the time it takes for an apple tree
to bear the winter winds
to stand through ice and snow and storms
and finally bloom again
Ten times this much I waited, Love,
for you to know me, then.
But now all flower petals fade--
there drops a sad soft dew
upon the mold-strewn mountaintop
where once warm winds went through
Now Death reaps what was sown, my Love,
but, well, you never knew.
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