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My soul, a delicate shade of blue
folds in on itself under your hand.
Shuddering, it rejects your icy touch:
cold harsh treatment. Thus
a touch-me-not’s cousin my heart becomes.
You turn away, so you will not see
my lonely stricken state
as my sweet offering you reject–
and you are not the first.
Frost has crept this way before
Hard the ground, brittle the flower
the heartless Winter flash-freezes.
Look on my glittering crystals!
Will my frozen tears move you to pity?
Is my love lovelier in death?
