Notes from Wikiquote
like a buttercup | upon its branching stem — | I come, my sweet | to sing to you. | We lived long together | a life filled | if you will | with flowers. So that | I was cheered | when I first came to know | that there were flowers also | in hell. | Today | I'm filled with the fading memory of those flowers | that we both loved | even to this poor | colorless thing — | I saw it | when I was a child — | little prized among the living | but the dead see | asking among themselves | What do I remember | that was shaped | as this thing is shaped? | while our eyes fill | with tears. | Of love, abiding love | it will be telling | though too weak a wash of crimson | colors it | to make it wholly credible. | There is something | something urgent | I have to say to you | and you alone | but it must wait | while I drink in | the joy of your approach | perhaps for the last time. | And so | with fear in my heart | I drag it out | and keep on talking | for I dare not stop.