The Sun would struggle with
Gasping chokes against thee,
Flowering plumes who squeeze
The breath of light, in spring.
Let your fury, in vein,
Clutch its petty vengeance.
Let the laughter you face
Breaks your sorrow’s promise.
Be silent, woeful lament.
Be still, shifting pilgrim.
Yet, the light will prevail.
Yet, my eyes will be filled.
Our skin to soon rejoice.
Our friends will soon convene.
Beneath tender kisses.
Laying, softly serene
