The dying sun gleamered in the west
Painting bloody hues of abstract
And that paints are painted best
When all senses betray the fact.
...
You are to me a flower
Whose sweetness and fragrance gives delight;
You are more'n anything dearer
Of my whole life you are the light
...
Love is not Diamonds upon somebody's fingers
It is not the Palace where death lingers
Love is not Lights and Voices that shouts your fame
...
My tongue is useless
I know.
I can never tell this to you
With ease.
...
As I walk down the empty alley
The dreamer dreams
The poet's dreams
Of crisp parchment and scratchy quills.
...
(the sky was clear)
The bright, lovely moon
I envied her.
...
Oh what, asked I,
Will qualify thee?
Thee who many envied
Whose name reached far and wide.
...
Quit complainin'
Quit wantin'
The things you ain't gettin'
...