Dear Adriana –
old lady from the days of yore –
In rain or shine
you and I and many more
Live to toil in pain
over many a work and chore:
You peddling flowers from door to door,
And I destined the meaning of words
spoken and writ to explore.

Some day, dear Adriana –
be it far or near it matters not –,
The ferryman shall carry us
over to the other shore
To the land where pain is pain no more
But a garden long and wide
as far as the blind eye can trot,
Where words are flowers that never rot.