I will go and you will keep your pride.Our valley, once in bloom, now a fool's paradise;torn by the willow, by the riverside.
The gravity of my needscrush my emotion easily -pressed and mortared into powder, like your drugstore apologies.
The spring winds blew coldas I recalled my Helen — the last dregs of her delirious feveras I dry my laundry, while othersdry their livers.
Travel is the therapy of saints - a world’s span from hell to heavenwith little time for peace.