Must I not weep for thee, departed one?

Lost to legend now, for ever more?

So young the years of thy Life.

So beautiful still in Death.

Eyes of glass, lips of faded rose petals;

Flower-like lips to part for one last sweet-

nectared kiss.

All these little things left undone.

Wait for me awhile in our forest:

Green place so full of memories like ripe fruit heavy with juice,

Boughs groaning under their weight.

You'll taste no more of them.