Diane, I bought a little white and royal Afghan; She sleeps with me often in the kitchen For often I simply lack the courage To sleep in the room where you slept. Diane, I cleared away the ivy from the garden; I made room to finally grow the lilac That Whitman used to scatter in his bedroom At night when he was writing his poems. Early in the morning I go out with boots and ruffled hair - Something you would always do before - Down to gather water from the creek behind the neighbors' house, But the bucket's far too hard to lift. Oh! For all the time that I spent sleeping while the sun came up - You were making coffee from the rain... Wading in the water while the walleye come and gather round, Nibbling at my feet, nibbling at my feet!