Which the place,

And which the land?

Which the face,

The heart, the hand?

Twice letters four

At my heart’s core.

I had the scent, but not the flower,

The fruit, but not the seed.

The scent is spent, the fruit turned sour –

Nothing remains but need.

Who has the scent now has the flower,

The fruit and, yes, the seed.

Be blessed! Be blent! I give as dower

Such memories as you need.

Love is a lemon cake.