Live, Love and Die.
When the going gets faulty, the smooth
path becomes rocky on soft tars.
The cluster of heavy heaps is
the bit by bit of draining flood.
It sheds like a crocodile's tears
and it looks for affection when
it lost love like bees lost taste;
The usefulness becomes a waste.
So the drain of heaps from the bunch
and the bitter honey streaming
amidst sugar is a saved waste.
The beauty b'comes not unugly.
Like the parading clouds and the
shoving dancing thunder at night;
Where leads the smoke of lightning, the
rumble of fleeting winds on waste?
"words from the innocent mind"