Non stop love
We seem to possess loved you in numberless forms, numberless times, in every area of your life after lifestyle and in era after era forever. My own spell-bound cardiovascular system has made and re-made the necklace of songs that you take being a gift and wear around your throat in your various forms, in every area of your life after your life and in age after era forever. Whenever I observed old chronicles of love, its age-old discomfort, its old tale to be apart or together, as I stare as well as into the previous, in the end you emerge dressed in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of your time: you started to be an image of what is remembered forever. You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount at the heart of time like of one another. We have enjoyed alongside millions of lovers, shared in the same shy sweetness of conference, the same distressful tears of farewell-old love, but in shapes that replenish and restore forever. Today it is placed at your toes, it has found its result in you, the love of all mans days both equally past and forever: common joy, general sorrow, universal life, the memories of loves merging with that one love of ours-and the songs of every poet previous and permanently.
No Ordinary Sun
Tree let your arms fall: raise them not greatly in entreaty, petition, appeal to the dazzling unhallowed impair. Let your biceps and triceps lack sturdiness and strength for this is not a more responsable to blunt, nor flames to smother. Your sap shall not climb again for the moon's draw. No more slope a differential head to the wind's talk, or blend to the tickle of coursing rain. The former shagginess shall not be wreathed while using delightful air travel of wild birds nor safeguard nor great the spirit of unheeding lovers through the monstrous sunlight. Tree allow your naked hands neither land nor extend vain entreaties to the radiant ball. This is no gallant monsoon's display, no dashing trade wind's blast. The fading green of your magic emanations will not make pure again these polluted skies for this is not a ordinary sunshine, o tree in the shadow less mountains the white-colored plains and...