There's A Black Rose Growing In Your

Love, Why Have You Sought The Horde Of Spearsmen, Why The Tent Achilles Pitched Beside The River-ford?

Love Has No Charm When Love Is Swept To Earth: You'd Make A Lop-winged God, Frozen And Contrite, Of God Up-darting, Winged For Passionate Flight.

I Had Drawn Away Into The Salt, Myself, A Shell Emptied Of Life.

That Way Of Inspiration Is Always Open, And Open To Everyone; It Acts As Go-between, Interpreter, It Explains Symbols Of The Past In To-day's Imagery.

...if You Do Not Even Understand What Words Say, How Can You Expect To Pass Judgement On What Words Conceal?