Here again I sit alone, wondering...
Why there must not be always, love...
Again, forlorn, my heart doth weep...
My purpose wane, my faith come weak...

Future, past, present are but not what I have been...
Self; illusionary...
But, for to whome I tell not when...
The line, the wax; coordination....

My falseness bare not witness to thy lovely...
Eye of the storm is not; but hurricane eyes, not, too much, mine heart...
Be the still, the ne'er loved...

Forlorn, my purpose wane...
To ne'er I go, thine heart not slain...

Carry thine love with thee, under pillow safeguarded...
Mule's day, play's night...
To see the lovely, wonderful...
Storm-less skies, wonderous eyes, after all..