I behold you as the solitary flower
On the ends of a branch-let
Ah, your fragrance travels miles
Gratifying even the dull insects!
...
Oh, my dear conscience, naive warbler
Your charisma guides me as a sorcerer
For my unforced errors which I weep
...
He fervidly inspects he's surely distracted
His mind and soul are unevenly distributed
His corporal self rests in a roseless bed
...
Oh, my dear set of binoculars! How can I praise
your magnanimity to help me enjoy the beauty of
things from a distance that I can't visualize
in my feeble and powerless naked eyes!
...
Oh, the dancing drops of rain
You are my hope against hope
Beseech you to drop again and again
And let me dance merrily sans pain
...