Love,
A thousand years bares,
From cone to cup with care,
The sun,
5 o’clock of morn through yonder evergreen do crevice,
Breaking Blue Night upon the carapace and tender skin off my back,
For none at all is a payment,
For mistakes past made,
In a golden gloomy glade.

Our brown-eyed lovely lady,
In naked tender beauty,
Within her breast envelopes,
The air itself in misty haze,
Twirling twirling upwards,
The sun does shine its gentle breeze,
Shown upon her golden face,
In gait more earth than human.

I tell her:“Love, the hour doth mark the morn, much earlier than I expected you t’windle awake.”,
In a booming voice she concedes:
All of the universe’s light in one breeze,
And upon mountains we roam again,
As the stars dwindle to fiery night’s sleep,
Leaving us to our deepest, darkest and loneliest thoughts.