And as the season changes and another day goes by
We will feel our chemistry strong and our desires true
Our attraction to one another is not counted by the days
As our affection for each other is not counted by the seasons
For fate has ignited an everlasting flame
A true flame of excitement
Growing strong inside us
With each passing day

D/

Do you know, my friend what I did today?
I picked up a fallen acorn from an ancient oak tree growing in a nearby woods....
Then I hurriedly carved upon it our names...
And utmost tenderly planted it into the smiling soil of my little garden!

Do you know, dear,why did I do so?
For if you ever forget me, my friend, I would call upon the roots of my planted tree to find you...
If you ever have to suffer the heat of bad days...
I would ask the leaves of my growing tree to flutter in the wind so that...
The cool breeze of my consolation reaches your shoulder!
And when a smile will cross your glorious face,
I would know it just by a singing cicada upon the tree on a yellow summery day!

And even if in case we cease to exist, my friend...
The tree would remain to harbour birds to weave tales of you and I...
Our tree would become a meeting point of long lost friends... Even after we are long gone by!

People will forever remember our friendship as the one that nurtured a tree to remain forever alive!

Incorporeal wooing
-- benighted brown study,
slow to bleed,
turning on its axis,
wintergreen leaf
in free fall,
when all alone
the butterfly escapes the killing jar,
to parlously play along
this dulcet bine,
strumming crura,
like Orlando to faire Rosalind
in the Valley of Hinnom,
"a hunger uncurbed by nature's calling,"
which prayerfully ascends,
asking for cotyledon to appear
by break of day/dream.

Time flies fast,
like a little bird,
swinging trough the sky,
never looking back.

Time is forever,
but never do you realise in time
that the present is not present anymore,
but is now past.

Time melts in my hands,
slipping trough my fingers,
only remaining the everlasting trace of memory,
staining every little crevice of my hands.

But memory,
memory remains,
persistently present in your mind,
always haunting every little image,
and every little thought.

Summer pondered
in everlasting hands
clasped to rose
watching comets fly
while daydreaming
of Paris
on stardust nights