Don’t blame me, dear. I didn’t know
That roses wilt while thistles grow,
And what is now the scent of May
Shall turn to dust the other day.

I didn’t know that flying hurts.
When you are up and chasing birds
Your wings unfasten and you fall
To where you have to learn to crawl.

I didn’t know that spring would kill
When giving me the silly will
To dare for more, to fight and see
That what I want is not for me.

I didn’t know you were unjust,
And when I asked for love and trust
You found it easier to go.
Don’t blame me, dear. I didn’t know.