Just a Blanket of Wild Violets

I forget just how many times
we made out
beneath our favourite tree
with no one but
the birds, a few buzzing things
and the odd bunny
watching over us for company ..
Indeed, it now seems
so very strange to think back
on us like that ..
Like maybe, we never really
played there at all ..
Since nothing marks the spot
nor the importance
of such lost private moments ..
No trace of you or me
except perhaps for an incongruent
blanket of wild violets ..