Poems

My tale of thee shall finally be told
for lust and passion have a part in this
I shall commit and crave thee more than gold
a thought of thee awards me endless bliss
Oh fresh and soft it rests upon a tree
then crushed and flattened by a man's machine
but wrath of gods must have created thee
I weep and weep for this be no routine
To be or not to be upon that hill
is not the question to be asked at all
the answer is determined by my will
I do not mind to tumble and to fall
To glide and soar give full serenity
for this shall be my favored destiny