Way before I ever was or got to be, there I was amid green.
If I believed in dense descending towels
Now I believe in dancing, shooting grief.
I knew the mourning came from me, at every sunrise I was ill
Despite the promise, the impending dream
The mountain shadow held me still.
Ivy, that was it!
The upward slither made me sick
Spring, you dent! Spring so tall!
Was it Spring who sent you after all?
But ivy, that was it. Oh ivy, that was me.