Poor little love,
uprooted and withered
I told her to cut
all my ropes, and let
me fall all the way
down
Where were we when worn
and lorn leaves left tawned?
She let the vines fade,
we were never here, and
our love died in youth
No water to purl laughter,
no streams nearby to grow
our skinny love.
Empty bottles count
as years yield no growth.
Our poor little love
