azalea.

I know you'll leave me one fine day.

You're sick of me, is what you'll say;

dumb and numb, I'll send you on your way.

Ahead of you I'll scatter showers

great armfuls of azalea flowers

from Yongbyon mountains' springtime bowers.

And as you go, each step you make

lightly on the flowers that break

will echo as the leave you take.

I know you'll leave me one fine day.

You're sick of me, is what you'll say;

but I'll not weep then, come what may.

now, will you trample on my azaleas?

p/s; this is a korean literary heritage poetry.