When we walked in the garden of love
lovers were walking there
alone, in couples, in threes
under the apple trees in the uncertain air.
Nobody was there but lovers
silently seeking what they wanted,
the river where she set down her burden
near the garden he planted.
Wind washes over the long light downs.
By her house walk those who love her.
She became the river and was burned to ashes
and there is no earth above her.