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You walked the earth with soil-stained hands, A woman sowing life with tender plans, Did you know your touch could wake in me A heartbeat trapped in root and seed? Each morning came with songs you hummed, Soft sunlit hymns that made me come— I reached for more than chlorophyll, A stillborn wish the wind kept still. Yet I knew the warmth beneath your care, Your voice—a rain I couldn’t wear... You'll love me yet, though bound in green, Though I’m no man and can’t be seen As more than stem or silken net— Not quite love, but close... and yet. You dreamed in verse, I bloomed in ache, To feel your hands, to forget my fate— And though I fade, I won’t forget: You'll love me yet.? Oh... you'll love me yet. You spoke of songs that never land, Of lyrics lost like grains of sand, But every rhyme you dropped near me Felt like a kiss I couldn’t keep. You never guessed a bloom could yearn, That something speechless might still burn— You reached for gods and starlit grace, I reached for touch, and found no face. We asked the sky for different truths, But time denies what roots can’t prove... You'll love me yet, when spring is gone, When every petal's poem is drawn— You gave me hope, I can't regret: A flower taught to feel... and yet. You sang of stars, I craved the ground, A single name not written down— Still, in your hands, I once was met: In silence I thought.. You'll love me yet. “I water everything,” you said, Where dreams go still, or go unread— But I remained, I bloomed, I broke, A final breath in petaled cloak.? And in your gaze, a soft "not yet"... What’s death? You'll love me yet. You'll love me yet, though I stayed still, A soul without the voice or will— And you, the poet, never knew? The love you grew was breathing, too. So if you write, then write for me— The blossom buried silently,? Who lived to feel, then lost... and yet— You'll love me yet. Just a gardener and a bloom unmet... But you'll love me— You’ll love me yet.
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