A HUNDRED POEMS IV

What this life -- explain

nothing dear lover!

we give and thou take

a summer breeze and leaf.

that oak tree does know

solid and unmoving

seasons tease its leaf

thou eye is steadfast!

i walked that path 

honey sickle taste 

bitter heart nonsense

and lemon smiles sun

my bird sings song

and hast cage iron

what will break wrought

my vortex of life dwell

between and beyond all

phantom dreams us love

and love dance life's ball 

Reviews

[1809 Black Plague Decem..]

Dear, E. P. Robles, it indears me to say, the first starts demanding,
an explore, a whim,
while your lover wilts,
a tragedy, a great scenario of a trastornado (derangement) yet bitter sweet love,
---Maynard