My love for you's a set of blooming fields,
All fenced off with an ever-folding fence --
And interest in their growing detail yields
An attraction that tightly bonds each sense.
I'll tend the fields and make the flowers grow
More beautiful as I try to remove
The weeds that in their growth will try to slow
The flowers' growth -- this garden, I'll improve.
Yet, in the bound of the environment,
A natural growth emerges and unfolds,
Insisting on collecting what it's lent,
So we cannot know what the future holds.
But nature yields more when we till the ground,
And love grows only when it's tightly bound.