i must start talking to you every day
my dear little one
you might complain, some day, afterall
how could a day turn into night
without metmophosis of our fondness
into some flowers
whose fragrance reached the shores of the island
on which you had been allowed to play
and walk
but i will not build a bridge across,
lest your garden loses its sanctity
swim this side some day
when you wish to partake
the manure which made these flowers bloom
whose fragrance you like so much
i hope