Trying to make me miserable
      fails as it fails to make my
fellow poets feeling sorry for me;

Few other poets are splendid at that: they whine a bit
and you can see immediately
           almost everybody swiftly offering some stupid silken handkerchiefs
         and golden particles floating at the edges of every teardrop they spill for the aching poor poet. How strange!

It's like an unatempted deer hunt with the accompany
           of the invisible fast running grey hound dog, barking aloud through the void of the woods. Noone hears! The heroes...
                                      
                         ­                            Sycamore seeds°

                        I am no poet. Noone feels with me;
I'm the impeccable warrior! Writing for the benefit of Humanness, Human~heartkindness
              Scribbling on the high Sparkling ideals - on Humanity's behalf!