And none of them want to play me a tune.... they're mad at me for what I did to you.

How meaningless life appears to be  
When Love withdraws its comforting ray;  
Harmony turns into entropy . . .
Chaotic impulses have their way

Though the sun rose to announce the day,
It matters not that it rose at all!
Darkness prevails when Love goes astray,
The shore weeps, though the tides rise and fall

Should a deluge submerge hill and dale,
Then oceans be scorched by the sun's breath,
Without Love, such calamities pale
When compared to solitude's slow death

Nowhere else in the vast universe
Can the harmony of Love be found;
So at every chance let us rehearse
Love's sweet symphony - Let it resound!

For Love is all that really matters --
And there is no doubt that life is grand
When that wall of loneliness shatters,
And Love walks beside us, hand in hand

The nectar of youth from which the hummingbirds fed
In the joyful sweetness of their morning flights
Now sullies and sours the afternoon hours
Through bitter infestations and corruptions

Its former clarity corrupted now
Trapped in a tube of stagnation and rot
And scavenged by a malevolent wasp
Her batlike wings pulsing malignantly

But there is always hope: new songs, new words
In the morning’s return of sweet hummingbirds

you always worked
blue

into your patterns—
always molded the

colour and feeling
with darker shades, like

paint splattered
in a room with no
windows.