a delight it made
torns a flower
a fear it created
within itself
where to cling…?
ask me not
the labyrinth of love
i can’t explain

the reserve was gone
what is left behind?
to hope for a sullen thought
that one
never changes his mind?
or to believe otherwise
that favors reform?

but the flower
is feeble beset with fears
where to resort…?
ask me not!
but on second thought
ask me
i know a little of love…