He cherished his lover greatly,
Saying, “My flower, my flower,”
As if nurturing her
In a flower vase.
But his lover—
To unload her anger and rage—
Had turned him into a trash can.
Yet he was a man of great talent,
His chest a treasury of words,
A golden bowl.
There were many fights,
Many bowls were broken during the quarrels.
But he—
Each time, bought new bowls,
Changed the bowls.
Yet he never changed
The flower vase.
He was faithful to his love—
Madly.
In the end,
His life shattered
Like a broken bowl.
