Oh! To breathe again!
But would I rather take in the roses?
To walk amongst the fields?

A stroll with no yield
An abject closeness.
A jealous chagrin

These fields are not lost,
Nor do they weave.
What was my cost?
What path do I cleave?

I don’t walk amongst the roses
I walk amongst the leaves,
Trees, bees, and breeze;
To feel the closeness
While entangled and broken.

I shamble through this yard,
I meander; no guard.
A garden so full
Only a fool would stop to smell the roses.