It's never the memories,
It's that hoarde of feelings
Leaves me empty of tears now,
Until my eyes are like stones,
...
Between day's start and end
Life's prosaic, dear friend -
A poem each day
Keeps drabness at bay,
...
A poet longs for his to be
A love as strong as death - we crave
A Song of Songs, of jealousy
Unyielding as the grave -
...