Standing in front of the tomb 
of one who never loved me, 
staring at those words of doon, 
there for all who wished to see: 
"Here lies a spring flower. 
Over limits of beauty she did tower. 
Why was she taken away? 
Perhaps, to enlighten God's day." 
A withering bouquet stretches 
across the morbid stone, 
fleeing the sun's deadly touches, 
when they used to be its home. 
They seemed to whisper, "Today, 
is your luckiest day, 
I say that you can join her, 
and I know you want to see her." 
My mind did all the rest, 
always I've really tried to give, 
to her, my very best, 
and I didn't really want to live. 

April 18, 1985