Don't sugarcoat anything
Unless you want pests

Black Clouds are punching their way through the heavens,
They’re changing shape like blackened ravens.
The wind is tickling the bushes, but I see no laughter,
I hear no voices,
Just a rustle while the breeze teases the grass.
The greenery bends in respect of the wind.
The witch is cooking up a brew,
A brew of green running in soon to occur strands of stew,
The starting storm and the rain melts the grass,
The garden soon to be a sodden melee of muddy passion.
I see it only from my window,
I’m the widow of the garden,
Since the pollen blew.
(C) LIVVI

Man
IN a cleft that's christened Alt
Under broken stone I halt
At the bottom of a pit
That broad noon has never lit,
And shout a secret to the stone.
All that I have said and done,
Now that I am old and ill,
Turns into a question till
I lie awake night after night
And never get the answers right.
Did that play of mine send out
Certain men the English shot?
Did words of mine put too great strain
On that woman's reeling brain?
Could my spoken words have checked
That whereby a house lay wrecked?
And all seems evil until I
Sleepless would lie down and die.
Echo

Lie down and die.

Man
That were to shirk
The spiritual intellect's great work,
And shirk it in vain.  There is no release
In a bodkin or disease,
Nor can there be work so great
As that which cleans man's ***** slate.
While man can still his body keep
Wine or love drug him to sleep,
Waking he thanks the Lord that he
Has body and its stupidity,
But body gone he sleeps no more,
And till his intellect grows sure
That all's arranged in one clear view,
pursues the thoughts that I pursue,
Then stands in judgment on his soul,
And, all work done, dismisses all
Out of intellect and sight
And sinks at last into the night.

Echo
Into the night.

Man
O Rocky Voice,
Shall we in that great night rejoice?
What do we know but that we face
One another in this place?
But hush, for I have lost the theme,
Its joy or night-seem but a dream;
Up there some hawk or owl has struck,
Dropping out of sky or rock,
A stricken rabbit is crying out,
And its cry distracts my thought.

It would be best
To go- our separate ways
And if- I didn't know better
I would ask you to stay

All we were doing...
Was living- in the past
I should have known
We'd never last

As I sit here- all alone
I am left- to wonder
About the unknown
And try- to find my way
Back Home.

O pretty little flower,
I pick you,
you are the beauty,
the one,
the one I want
to take home
& treasure
for an eternity.

O pretty little flower,
I pick you,
you are the one,
the one
that makes
my heart beat
forever.

O pretty little flower,
I want your
precious petals
to grace my face.
Yes, you are the one.