For my revenge, I remain young and green,
Making sure spring laughs, and the laughing mountains are seen.
For my revenge, my glad youth parades
Past your planted memories, cool and shaded,
Which your madness had piled high with grim,
Uncomfortable, monuments to him—
My rival who defeated you, his roots covered in ice,
Authority standing over the pink and the nice.
In my green buds bursting from rough, old bark
I prove sweetness won’t surrender to conspiracies of dark,
But sings like the error-free birds do,
Their coats, feathers and loves, new,
The territorial battles made earnest and enthusiastic again.
If I can be new, why should I fear old, impolitic men?
If I can be a child, why shouldn’t you take my love up
And drink from the rose’s delicate cup?
Youthful secrets know time will do
In my green immortality what this poem does to you.
Read this poem again, after a year,
Or eons, if you like. I’ll be here.