The lonely heart is unseen,
a dancer alone...

The blood red wine of
pomegranates...

Visiting the home of my childhood,
standing on a tiny patch of grass...

Flowers in the warm sun
never taking care...

His face-
greasy and worn...

Standing on the bank
of a little lake...

As night falls
romance covers...

no oil or pitches
to make tender...

Refrigerators are made
to keep things cold...

Tell me not your troubles
and I will not cause you mine to hear...

She is the keeper of secrets-
mysteries untold...

what strange wailing comes
from a contented heart...