For those who live, a day or night. For me who reads, a soul divided.
Sensibility has lost all her senses, and the sense has lost all her sensibilities.
You wander in the sun, I walk in the night.
Our paths may never cross, yet my heart to you tied.
So I did say, the strings guided my mind into heaven.
Yet somehow they lured me, into a cold misty garden.
A night most serene, forgetfulness be my lover.
In the company of myself, a song most tender.
Letters most delightful, words most kind.
Closing of the envelope, dusty sorrows unwind.
Memories of the future, a history unwritten.
A black swan lake, the wind ties the ribbon.
Refreshing scents, colourful blossoms.
Turning the wheel, in the sky I dreamt.
A world seemed afar, yet in it I reside.
The purple tulips sing, the vals of the night.