Bring me the sunset in a cup.
I wonder if it hurts to live, And if they have to try, And whether, could they choose between, They would not rather die.
Life is so rotatory that the wilderness falls to each, sometime.
That love is all there is, Is all we know of love.
Knew I how to pray, to intercede for your [broken] Foot were intuitive - but I am but a Pagan.
Sweet Skepticism of the Heart That knows and does not know And tosses like a Fleet of Balm Affronted by the snow.