And the flowers I see aren't really there
my garden bare
i let them rot you see, she left me
cause I was me, too me for her to be
there.
in the garden
and they wilt, the tulips
O' they wilt
and brown over reds and purples hue
the hewn soil I rake
with a trowel
and a finger
with no ring on it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem