and the blackberry still has its thorns    and the blackberry still leaves its stains    a dress damp and torn on the forest floor   where nary a trace still remains   and the blackberry may have no memory of you   but I do      and the wild apple still has its thorns   and the wild apple still has its blooms   but the flower that shows doth not smell like a rose   and no one can eat of its fruit   and the wild apple may have no memory of you    but I do      I viewed this garden from a distance   especially in the flower of spring   not knowing of nature's insistence   not knowing the honey for its sting      and the rose is a barrier of thorns   after the petals have drooped   and the staggering years with their own barren fears   and the rose hips double-edged truth   for these roses may have no memory of you   but I do      I followed your trail in dream-time   though the footprints were long filled with sand   I swore not to walk on that shore any more   too much wreckage awash on that strand      but that's me all alone on the shore   with the flowers instead of a sword   tempting the fates and the same hurricane   to strike twice where memory is stored   for the storm may have no memory of you   but I do