And I find her memory inconsequential;
It has no ladder to get to the dove

Perched on the branch,
But a deep ditch, very hollow and horrible.

I must put down her portrait
That's a fierce fantasm, deadly dumb.

The more we remember "She";
The more our fortitude falls.

Love isn't a peach friend;
It's skilled in politics.

I must go to the sea singing songs
About the new path where happiness grows.