By Luis G. Dato
Upon a path we lingered
When skies were overcast,
She knew not I was doubting
If love had come at last.
In her I felt arising
The pity Christ thought of
To me naught else did matter
If only she could love.
To me unkind was pity,
And hurting, gratitude,
My love was more than kindness,
For thanks from her too good.
She said in lasting friendship
How happy we could be
She did not know her hatred
Less painful were to me.
I said if love she could not,
‘T were better to forget,
That in the flush of summer,
Upon that lane we met.
