With beauty herself draped in your word
Sounding the veins of any who heard...

Like hammer and tongs
The ring of iron songs...

A slender swindler sat down and asked
“Sweet flower, do tell. Say, why are you here...

Trust, is sleeping in the back seat of the car...
Love, is your mother cutting an apple and giving...

“There are children here”
“There are children here, you know...

To dream of a day without
Any worry, trouble, or doubt...

“He always walked with sinners”
They lie...

The body vanished
The soul continues to march...

And who
are you...

Every work of heart is each a piece of art
Be it poems, sculptures, music or drafts...

A smile from your lips
And a bow to your hips...

The white woods walk
About the hills...