Ostrich-Eyes
Ostrich-Eyes
Arise with the morning breeze,
In love, night is a disease!
A rebellion with the blood veins,
With me were crying my windowpanes;
Roses, marigolds and tulips,
In ruins, there must be apocalypse!
Keeping count with my poems,
Beloved is far-away with blossoms;
More than eclipse to my cold moon,
Winter is the fall of fortune;
To the inflorescent skeptical wings,
The fall is upon us all beautiful things.