Lost in Translation

The pavement glitters with footsteps –
The path they traversed before
And every daffodil blooming
Is one he left by her door.
The song the morning bird whistles,
A darling cry of delight
For when he sends her surprises
Before she works every night.
But things get lost in translation
And pavements are but cement
And every daffodil blooming
Has grown without her consent
The song the morning bird whistles
Is nature’s natural tune
And every gift in the evening
Is good as any at noon.
The truth was blatant and simple
Oh how could he have misread,
The world in which he was living
Had only lived in his head.