Because I know you are going to ask
where the flowers are,
I have picked roses red and sweet,
left them by the wayside for the birds to eat.

Because I know you are going to ask
where the sweets are,
I have made you halwa with these hands,
stirred and then spilt what was yours.

Because I know you are going to ask
where I am,
I have long left the place I was,
to walk slow between the trees

Where your greedy eye cannot reach me.