In the wasted prison cell of my room, barely seventeen square feet, the devastating news came: You got married, and I can hardly - at most just - compliment you in poems! You're a chestnut-eyed, mature chocolate-haired fairy. Your fragile, ***** shoulder stood guard over you like a toothpick, your ruddy heaven-smile face: Full of merriment, full of silent vulnerability!

I cannot allow myself to fade into a memory that suddenly leaves my heart and mind, and to wreak havoc on my forgetful brain, I will make an eternal complaint with a notebook: It is an immortal eternity among my trivial, trivial things as an immortal eternity. "It's been slowly becoming seven years since I grieve barbed wire, and with its contagious tears you grieve grief and bitter despair with your self-forgotten flirtation, your sunshine happiness." S rock-shaking sobs

how many times did you hide on my oak shoulders as a lone deer! Today, or perhaps, looking to the distant future, motherhood will appeal to you with its fertile harmony: Gospel in deaf ears, heavenly music - but it would suit your heavenly joy if you floated back for a single pure and forgivable minute.

on the wings of the mind evoking satisfaction, the immortal, embodied Universe, and your youthful son, are always loyal to you: We have always felt each other's heartbeats in our youth!