Springing with white blossoms
those trees, bright the air
and that fountain, aureole spray, love's essence, dancing there
ravished by bullfrogs' chanting-
they neither know nor care
that we are leaving, now, we and our marvelous affair.
Heavy with May, this air,
these trees. They do not care . . .
The fountain waits, not for us, and will wait
after we've left.
And the frogs, passionate,
forget to ask our permission . . .
came we, no color left in this garden, here,
we and our marvelous affair.
- Reality, the Void Abandoned by Imagination by M. L. Rosenthal
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