Don’t thank me; I gave you a good time
Because I wanted you forever;
You left me. Now, hearing bird songs and holding a feather,
I do the one thing I know how to do: write rhyme.
Pathetic, I know, but I once saw a poet treated like a king
Because he had a bird who could sing
And that bird, too, flew away.
Now I walk up the palace steps under the sun
To meet the king. I am read by everyone.
Thanks enough, when love tells you, Thanks. I cannot stay.