A hyacinth’s scent last night
Brought such delight
To me as she stood,
Pure and white
In her box of wood.
Others unopened stood
In that box of wood.
They will flower and die
As will I.
A hyacinth’s scent last night
Brought such delight
To me as she stood,
Pure and white
In her box of wood.
Others unopened stood
In that box of wood.
They will flower and die
As will I.
“We know what was on his mind
When he composed a rhyme about time
And a flower who’s bloom to soon
Passed away”, they will say.
And I will make reply,
“Only the poet knows
The secret of the rose”.
But poets may lie.