You had left before I could learn how to say, I love you.
Hope in my eyes, I turn right and left.
Concern navigates my head right to left.
But death tells me lungful  earth has no trace of you.        Breathing earth testifies to nothing like bones of you.
So what do I do with this love I took time to weave for you?
This love which got burnt waiting under the scorching  Sun's lawn.
This love which would have kept the two of us cozy and warm.
This love which is now a worn out that I  never worn nor won.