This path begins and ends between us
though you walk sweetly at my side
and I am harp-hearted when you reach
easily to lace your fingers to mine

These garden ways where the flowers grow
so profusely 'twixt sun and shade
and I walk with my arm swung out
to let them brush spring-soft along my hand
while in symmetry,
each word you speak
feels like a petal's caress to my cheek.

And I know like I've always known
how entwining these Monet dream days are
when I let you look at me like that-
but strings still, and I have seen this garden
and how it may yet wither to dry dust
and I know that the path our feet lead us to
will not appear so neatly cobbled for long

So rest here my love, upon this bench,
beneath this shaded tree,
and drift to dream of another at your side,
while I softly slip away to the sea...