How strange a world, when asked in nonchalance
Are heartfelt questions carved for true reply,
Yet asked by way of short, not free, response,
And in return are given happy lies.

How dim a day, when lovers’ woes are sparked
And quickly stifled, blown by wind away
A poem; the only traveler's path embarked,
The pen; the only torch to guide the way.

How dark a place—relief is solitude,
And crystal waters flow in twine with red.
Remarks are amplified, so coldly rude,
And emerald words placed deftly in their stead.

One wish upon a sparkling star shall bring
Another hopeless prose… to gaily sing.