she is, for my love, outgrown
no longer, with my love, can i own
in any case, in my yard i did not seed
her; for certain, she is, a sturdy weed
now i must let her go, her kind
for her to multiply, and my mind
with heart, and soul together bind
and let go my memories all behind
and like a drift-wood me flow forward
making sure, the river bed does not hold
me back tempting with a toddler like hug
until beyond that ocean, surely i, out-log
