I Knew, That I Had To Leave

I knew, that I had to leave;

and you knew, that you had to stay.

I knew that your Mother would grieve;

you told me, it’d be better that way.

I knew, that I had to leave;

but you knew, that you dared not go.

Where once, our daffodils bloomed,

now, concrete towers grow.

I knew, that I had to leave;

but you, you begged me to stay.

I warned you, I would not cleave;

you said that I would, anyway.

I warned you, I would not leave;

but you, you picked up, and left.

You burned my trees quite often:

whatever was once, was cleft.

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