Dear Earth,...*

Eighty seven times
 Did you circle in your dance
  With grandpa the golden sun
   Many thousand times
    Did you spin him round and round
     And your dance keeps going on
      ...
      But you dance so wild!
       Ignoring that he is tired
        And his uncountable pains...
         Let him catch his breath!
          Can’t you notice his bad cough?
            ...
           Why being so rough?
           Where’s the fun in that?
           He is dizzy now!
          Let him rest the night.
          ...
         Why not dancing slow
         Like most ladies love to do
       And let him for once
      Be the man he always was
     Let him lead the waltz!
    ...
   Why on purpose step
 On his foot and let him limp
Loosing his balance
While you continue the dance?
...
Why the need to sing
Almost scream extremely loud
Making his ears ache
 On the fringe to become deaf?
  Why not hum along
   While you dance to moonlight songs
     Like most ladies do?
      ...
      Why stealing the dance
       With his wife during their song
        But give her away
         To some strange and lonely star
          Quickly getting back
          Not letting him do some talk
          And mingle to share
          Some of his dreams with others?
          ...
          But you are selfish!
          You will keep him for yourself
         While we know that once you’re bored
       You’ll do just the same
      With him, like you’ve always done
    With others and let him go
  After he’s tired and soar
  Let another star take him
And then once he’s gone
You’ll keep going on
Looking for more fun..
Dancing with others...
...
Please...
Slow down...!

And that night, the wind
in the weeping willow
whispered the melancholy
song of how the blue-eyed
girl was gone...

Two red cherries
under the twinkle
of a fading star,
They whisper together...*

*,, She was wearing
a pocket watch,
long chain
made of stars,
and the clock
made of the moon.

Alas, he never came,
But she is still up there
in the diamond sky,
Waiting... ,,

In a midnight
whispered by spring,
I lingered to hear
the symphony
of wild roses
beyond the
wayward pines.
But now
I paint them
in marine colours
to send them
to drift among
the reckless waves,
seducing the young sailors...