And beauty cries of envy for her
Not of the most superficial;
but because she laughs at the stars,
and rolls against the blowing wind.
The rains of stormfront seek;
to be loved within doubt, loved
upon the grazed fields locking her reflection,
within the sight it sets.

Yet she is mad of desire,
mad as the dog among the iron wire.
Though so am i, mad too,
but of guilt,
of greed in the shallow mans sea.
And upon that thought rolled
the tire.
Away she went
Dreaming swift along the dolphin ever blue;
below surf ,
distant of me.