Please don’t trample on my heart,

step carefully where bluebells grow.

Admire the violets of my eyes,

the roses, as my lips I show.

Don’t steal the blossoms from my breast

or snip the blooms with your sharp blade

to press my petals in a book,

and rob the garden I have made.

In secret place I bloomed alone,

you found me in this valley deep.

With compass, map and microscope,

identified me in my sleep.

And I awoke, and bloomed for you

and you admired me for a time.

But petals drop and flowers fade.

Will you forget your columbine?

Some blooms are rare, they hide away

in secret in some misty glade.

Don’t steal the flowers that I show

and rob the garden I have made.