To Each Their Own...

Drifting past the garden,
The plants seemed austere;
Many a dismayed maiden,
Each unmindful of frizzy hair.

A few waved frail leaves,
Wont to not ever look glum;
Painful were their heaves,
As they bid a weak welcome.

Then, that loving pair,
Stood in a despairing hug,
Both of them aware,
Of death's imminent tug.

He'd vowed to be there,
Shield her in wind and rain,
And did stoically stare,
As her grip gave way in pain.

He had her, and she him,
Together, but set by life apart;
Each to glug their own vim,
One to live,
             watch the other depart.