It matters not how hard or harrow
The hindrance that I hold
But how soft and purely supple
The helping hand I doth extol
The caressing care known as compassion
Opens the door to grace
Forever in between
Comparing looks upon the face
It matters not how rough the gaze
How tough the buccaneer
Believe him when he tells you;
Want for her when you doth hear
The sound of songbirds singing
a school chirping from the sky
Witness strength in one’s illusion –
The white breeze (or red?) will knoweth why
Flapping e’er so slightly
When care is on the rise
Deluding e’er so lightly
As the sun says his goodbye.
sensualism 