life is poetry my dear,
while minutes and moments turn to years
and all the laughter, all the tears
teach us to release our fears;
to live like kings surviving jeers.
so raise your glass and let’s make cheers
for love keeps living, far or near;
a story for the poet’s ear.
I’m glad you’re in my story, Dear.

O, the golden fields calling me,
The fields inviting me to run through them.
The newly cropped fields with their neigbor,
A lake of lilac.
Smelling of a fresh summer morning.

I shall sprint through you,
Singing at the top of my lungs,
Until I reach the shadow mountains on the other side,

I shall climb your sparse trees,
Swing from the larger ones,
And hug the smallers.

And I shall gaze into the depths of the lake a-near.
Its stiff surface lazily swaying
Glimmering like the most precious gem of them all.

And when I tire late at afternoon,
I shall, content, watch the clouds above you,
Against a backdrop of azure blue.