I could have killed you earlier
instead, I let you live.
How can I give you peace
when leaves are sprouting?
What shall I do with love;
my heart is burning?
And more the fields erupt
saffron, purple, tiny lilies,
hillsides rising green
and red, I hold you still.
When winter comes, if blizzards
keep you from me, then I will,
dragged into the crystal woods
with gentle deer, hunting wolves,
at last, release you there.
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