Would Jove appoint some flower to reign, in matchless beauty on the plain, the Rose (mankind will all agree). The Rose the queen of flowers should be.
Love shook my heart/ Like the wind on the mountain/ Troubling the oak-trees
In gold sandals / dawn like a thief / fell upon me.
Although only breath, words which I command are immortal.
May I write words more naked than flesh, stronger than bone, more resilient than sinew, sensitive than nerve.
Someone, I tell you, in another time will remember us