In the house of lovers, the music never stops, the walls are made of songs & the floor dances
I turn all thorn then, but you come back again and make my thorniness fragrant and pink and petaled.
I made an oath to myself: as long as I live as long as my soul remains in this body I won't deviate from the right way but later I looked to my left and then to my right and I saw our beloved everywhere how could I make a wrong turn?
No sickness worse than imagining thyself to be perfect can afflict thy soul.
Let the beauty we love do what we do.
The world is a mirror, an imaging of Love's perfection.