Nothing worth mentioning
One ordinary night, when you are playing with your fingernail
By the store, my dreary eyes are filled with seldom pleasure,
Of finding alone right before them a hidden treasure,
Proudly in triumph, as many a voracious eye fail
How jocund is Spring if thou art missing?
The nightingales' songs are sweetly sung,
Yet, unwarranted, disrupt my musing
On which thine apparition is up hung.
Farewell, my friend, the time for us to part
Hath come, as festive banquets have to quit,
By enduring Time, and our wavering heart,
In which our capricious lives have to meet.
One day at work I gazed outside,
Across the glass sev'n-storey high.
I saw those same piles, tall and wide,
Taking vast space right off the sky.