"The Garden"

- The Index -

"Past Old Strangers"

"Across the Miles"

When you love someone,

you lose yourself,

because you want to be

the picture of the purest rose

that he could hope to see.

You think his thoughts and dream his dreams,

and then, become a part -

the two of you, instead of one,

who share a common heart.

So, I would fear to give again,

to lose my identity,

to chance that someone find me out

and step inside of me.

Lest, he might pluck my finest bloom,

protected, as it is,

to strew the petals cross his path,

or cultivate, as his,

for if my gate remains so closed,

I can shield the blossom

that no one knows...