My daughter took her very first
as my lover took her last .
The sorrow of the blooms of spring
is they come and go so fast .
I took the only thing she wore
and I put it in its case .
A flower blooms and dies once more
in this tomb it has its place .
For soon enough a girl will bloom
and she'll open it with care .
To find my flower laid to rest
with her treasured gift still there .
Greenwolfe 1962
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