Deep in the dark of the night,
from the storm in my heart, words that were my thoughts.
Words that I wrote.
some were blue with sadness, some were yellow in joy
others were red through passion.
All but many colors of one feeling.
Shiny ink flowed into the last word,
lit by my feeble light.
clouds rushed by in the dark sky,
lit by gentle starlight.
I went to the place my heart sought,
finding the lovely image my words sought to paint.
Placing at her feet, and at her mercy,
all that I had written.
A silence came upon us.
I thought: What use could she possibly find for these?
I did not buy them from anyone, nor did I fight anyone for these.
How could they possibly fit her?
As I walked home,
holding my precious words, I scattered them into the wind and sun.
Far away, a little girl picked them up
and read.
Hugging them, she wrote books that were read tirelessly.
Read by all, except one and another.
