Oh saintly night,
you, where the moon strolls by...

If only I could write a sonnet, sigh
perhaps, my thoughts could get well organized...

I.
"I feel hungry,&quot...

So windy are the days when autumn comes
that even some leaves that once fell with...

Someone once asked, why do you write?
I replied, “because I need to let it out...

At night I dream of suns so bright
Of flowers wilting up with fright...

Thinking, thinking...
The clock is ticking...

It is through you, my beloved, poetry
that I have found a universe...

It’s not you
it’s her hips...

In the village of Heydon,
a civil parish of Norfolk, England...

The moonlight highlights the spotlight
of your sight with such delight...

When flowers bloom, I'll see you soon.
I'll be a bug in a cocoon...