seems so hard
the endless beating
of your mustard
yellow heart
for all the things
designed as holy
know your role
it seems so hard
you wonder if
at any could-be moment
some will see yourself
as all your work
now present
twisted in advance
and you
the only you
to judge this
flowing current
from the comfort
of your current
sheltered state of mind
will dissipate
the physics of it all
for now we'll make our tea and let this cherry garden slowly overhaul our souls
a hundred times a year
a thousand tales of old

gone so soon
the vultures
gather up
no forces
there for you
an evening's worth
of pleasant talks
from here
an instant
gone too soon
assist yourself
with remedies
piled up
and reaching
heights beyond belief
you are a leaf
you are what leaves
a million strong
though must i speak
for every one
h christ
st peter on the line
divine the intervention
fine
we'll chat it up
again some other time
remember this, a heart of mustard yellow rising up this starless mine of mine
a hundred times a year
a thousand drops of wine