Let mine be the quality of thoughts
the vibes in nourishing calm
borne in sanctity of the tenderest overtures
in chrystal eyes flows unsung sonnets
not in ravishing melee but deeper in caring
forthwith in enchanted golden lure
this but the hunger of the sublime pure

What serve me in the mauling of orchids
a trampling of rearranges to quench thirst
a victory of spirit left in base emptiness
either milling in afterthoughts or merely tossed
my essence revoke that which is not me
for in glow of treasured light gems sparkle brighter
as does the heart that cases the shimmering pearl

Hear me not of bereft or forsaken
the half part of a concerto is no music to muse
as the presented bouquet misarranged by the iced florist
of Cartier and Faberge the vases crafted adorned
I speak no stories to the troubadours for their circuses
for in scented speeches the gypsies build caravans
mine is a farewell to arms and the frost of Baltic snow