Azaleas

If you grow so sick of me
you want to go,
I’ll let you go — gently — I won’t say a word.

I’ll pluck an armful of azaleas
on Yaksan. Yangbyon:
I’ll strew them in your path.

Tread gently
on these flowers:
they deck your parting steps.

If you grow so sick of me
you want to go,
Though I die, I won’t shed a tear.