So I gave her a farm. She said,
"It's too large." So I gave her a field.
The two of us sat down.
Sometimes I would fall in love with a lake
Or a pinecone. But I liked her
Most. She knew it.
"Keep writing," she said.
So I did. Each time the new snow fell,
We would be married again.
The holy dead sat down by our bed.
This went on for years.
"This field is getting too small," she said.
"Don't you know anyone else
To fall in love with?"
What would you have said to Her?