The apples must throw
their seeds, in this season.
And tears will role and shine.
But I will breathe in new flowers.
They are human hearts,
or blue stars if you like.
Intimate and erotic.
An echo of summer,
as life passes by.
To sail with another
The apples must throw
their seeds, in this season.
And tears will role and shine.
But I will breathe in new flowers.
They are human hearts,
or blue stars if you like.
Intimate and erotic.
An echo of summer,
as life passes by.
A Wandering Poet 