Enclosed in Winter, bitter April rains,
dance heavily upon the face of Spring,
who met the world in spite of all our pains.
The flower weeps that used to shine and sing.
Cruel words and crueler deeds have torn her heart,
which once with joy and gentle song did swell.
He stole a glance, a kiss, then dodged with art.
So all her world’s collapsed to form one Hell.
I’m left to clasp my joy and wipe her tears,
and hope this is the last she’ll know of pain.
To light her soul. To chase away her fears,
and keep the watch lest he return again.
Cruel is the hand that bids a human heart,
“come forth” that it might tear the thing apart.
The Beautiful Path 