I look out of the window and think
If only
And yet the mountain is indomitably
Sharp-grained
...
I borrowed The Great Gatsby
From my own Library
Where I work
Knowing that I won't read more
...
So strong are we to fly in fighter planes
A hundred miles above the fleecy clouds
...
She calls me in the cold dark morning
From five thousand miles away
I hear the mobile chirrup and my heart
Knots with the familiar slight dread
...
If Only
I look out of the window and think
If only
And yet the mountain is indomitably
Sharp-grained
The sky as blue and bright
As a child's painting
Now is all we have
Then why am I sad?