Let me behold your lush perfection,
having tended to you impeccably
Let me sample your many perfumes,
only having watered you sufficiently
I may pick one or two of your flowers,
but when I have grown in you ten more
My lips wetted by your fruit’s nectar,
but not before those fruits are falling
I beg, if you are thirsty,
do not quench my thirst,
until I have watered you
I beg, if your soil is poor,
do not blossom for me,
until I have nourished you
For my joy is found in the giving,
and though I relax in your bountifulness,
I am happiest with dirty hands
