The baby fern,
Receiving food from the earth,
Grows toward the sun
With outstretched arms.
I have received the rich nectar of poetry "But where is my love?"

Will you return-
Does the sun leave its flowers for always­
Winter calls it away
but it comes back- sometime.

All has been said about love
And so I will not repeat.
All has been said
But we are new lovers
And oh! to say the old.

The dead night Is my companion.
We sit in our long black gowns
Still and patient.
But, when our suns come,
We jump up
And walk with them hand in hand
Through the horizon.

These poems will not bring you back
Nor do you know they exist.
I am gone.
That is all you know.