Harvest of joy!

The last poet of world followed me,

With the Olympian lamp in his hand

He ran after me in the marathon of

 Love. An ancient Cana'anite lover he 

Was Jordanian. When winds die down

Where would butter flies go from Eden 

Those who doubt about little things

 Have little minds and lack of depth

A harvest of joy can only be received 

From the sowing of little things that

Spontaneously flow from a loving heart,

A heart that loves never lies and is loyal 

But some times it's the little things 

That matter and cause catastrophe.