Blossom


Blossom

I'm fed up!
That old apple tree in our garden
Each time blossoms
Just like that, secretly
But I am old, too, and I don’t have much time,
So if I live to see next spring
I’ll steal out of the house
And with the hands behind my head
I will lie down on the grass
And wait
I want to see that very solemn moment
When the buds open
Then I will wipe the dew off my bare feet
And quietly creep into the bed
In which you will have been sleeping alone
Not aware of my night walk
And, in the morning when you approach the window
With a cheerful call:
-Come to see, the apple tree has blossomed!
With a Mona Lisa smile, I will just say
I know.

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