and the blackberry still has its thorns
and the blackberry still leaves its stains
a dress damp and torn on the forest floor
where nary a trace still remains
and the blackberry may have no memory of you
but I do

and the wild apple still has its thorns
and the wild apple still has its blooms
but the flower that shows doth not smell like a rose
and no one can eat of its fruit
and the wild apple may have no memory of you
but I do

I viewed this garden from a distance
especially in the flower of spring
not knowing of nature's insistence
not knowing the honey for its sting

and the rose is a barrier of thorns
after the petals have drooped
and the staggering years with their own barren fears
and the rose hips double-edged truth
for these roses may have no memory of you
but I do

I followed your trail in dream-time
though the footprints were long filled with sand
I swore not to walk on that shore any more
too much wreckage awash on that strand

but that's me all alone on the shore
with the flowers instead of a sword
tempting the fates and the same hurricane
to strike twice where memory is stored
for the storm may have no memory of you
but I do