Number Fifteen Sara Teasdale Poem by James McLain

Why should I care about rain and or snow,
About your green leaves that were silver and gold.
Or on a bush on that hill that will never be seen!
Or all of the trees that you climbed as a kid,
But summer was ours by the sea.

But lovely my dear, I really cared, I confess to you that I did.
Taken from me as a leaf caught up tossed around in the wind,
And trapped in a wave, a wave none could see.
There we once we're and now we're both here,
Quite, Silent and still, lost in our love and at peace.