The crunch of frost gave way beneath my feet
As the morning sun fought off the stubborn mist...

To breathe in woe and then bemoan the...
Can bring no kind of sympathy or peaceful rest...

When lilies and dahlias
thrived on my grief...

~~~~~
My muses are the furrowed fields...

...I am amputated from reality,
and pain-drenched wailings swim...

For thee I'll daub this poet's pen
in tar that marks the harpy's den...

I swim with the whales, I slide with the snakes,
I dream in the night and when I'm awake...

I laid my hands upon her breast
And hoped for life anew...

Never a word did you utter that day
That your life here had run its course...

When time itself has run its endless course
And rivers dry before they meet the sea...