For tears that fall
On hollow cheeks
When the weeks feel like years
And the years feel like weeks.

And you sit by a grave
Where the roses grow
But the rose that you seek
Is buried below.

You have my heart
Heavy with sorrow
For the velvet rose
With no tomorrow.

At times I wander far….
Far away from all human habitats
Away from all prying eyes
Following the bent
Of my vagrant inclination;
Into Nature’s sylvan pockets
To places studded with trees
To the tranquil ***** of the woods
Or
Onto the heights of bald looking hills
Where shrubs struggle to strike root
From the cleft of rocks and ledges
Where in hollows, wild bushes grow in clusters

To watch the shreds of hovering mist
To gaze upon piles of sailing clouds
To shout loud and whistle long
And to listen to the hills
Mimicking my own sound

There I will hop and jump,
Like a sprightly forest fawn,
As I don’t fear
Either the silently gliding streams,
Or the clump of swaying trees,
The host of wild flowers,
Or the monstrous mossy rocks,
Either the birds or the beasts

Never will they watch my cranky pranks
And call me a loony
As here my own men might do!