When Only Paper Can Save

Primrose

I walk in a sward of death for your love!

In a day I commemorate my soul;

My eros is like a wingless bore dove

That strayed its free rein and scent in its goal.

I recollect the day when I first lost...

We were scions; your lilacs were so fresh.

Without you I can't find the epochs best:

I still sense your mellow hull on my flesh.

Now, there's few petals of forget-me-nots?

Walking to your crypt, memories appear... 

I see mint sunflowers on your gray pots;

Of that clear day you were no longer here.

     Primroses are the least I can give today;

     Gone, I still can't say what I felt that day.