, ,

i promise you tears
my poor confused dears
if you waste all your years
sad slaves of your fears

do not do what you do not love
and peace will come
on the white winged dove.

fresh bread from the oven
the new mown hay is green
the cool pond under summer tree shade
the sweetest meadow ever seen

counting the grasses blade by blade
off with clothes in the warm shade
eros's musk drifts in the air
oh, stop quivering… just be there

poverty is ugly
greed is accepted as ambition
beauty shines from every pore