Every time we part it leaves me trembling

With memories of things best left forgotten.

And if I wished I could forget, I think,

But forgetting gives nothing but release from pain

And casts away the gift of a passion's winter afternoon.

That day's needs settle deep inside me

And I will not speak them out

And every inch of distance kept, a thorn

But each a thorn that I will bear, bloody though it is,

My fingers curled about the stem of the rose remembered.