People tell me it’s a sin/crime
— Shabtai Zisel ben Avraham
Two abreast discover the wind and bend
The mulch paths of a garden hold,
Staying from noon until the evening’s end
Is bathed in sombre shades of gold.
Coy steps found firmness once within
But yet still innocent of sin.
Each parting grew more tender and delayed,
Words easy though much was at stake,
A shy ankle flashed, an ear’s shape betrayed
By a pink cloth a little too opaque,
A naughty strand of hair left bare
And tucked back in with modest care.
Now within the emptied garden there lies
The remains of a tree cut down;
It was once lovely, and it saddens eyes
Who remember its crimson crown,
Yet here still wanders one alone
By this chopped tree and this cold stone.