If a
rose be more than a rose, than your eyes the pearls of
Greece.
And where is Africa, my heart, so many lights
Away.
But we drift and live—for what is this life? I cry,
Bloody
injustice, and cringe a hostile sphere; and all my
Heart
knows a wrong. I met a lady, dignified and cryptic,
Askew
and indifferent; thus, I tiptoe a contour, and
Life
is that much more difficult. My precious Swan,
Enjoy
the soul, your very soul; and speak to be heard—persuade
The
spirits, for they long to rhythm, and long to give.
And
happy birthday, prematurely.
A
waterline is boundary.
And
we search a metrical and run a line, for much the
Rope
to signal love—and much the love to fix the rudder.
Meet
me at a pier, sometime long into a future. Let us
See
anew; and grip a star. Indeed, a porch is filled with dreams,
And
patient scars; and we perish oft to feel love.
