Far from my love,
my mind has no ease.
A lone cloud that
sails a distant sky.
And the autumn,
is not the autumn
of the old times.
Yet, the colour and beauty
of your love, like a
passion-flower pattern.
A path out of this blackness.
The lustre of this flower,
a guide from island- to-island.
Like a seasoned boatman,
I know the goal
on our path of love.
A garden full of flowers,
on those silky autumn nights.
A Wandering Poet 