Hunters' lutes cried too but

thought was not rotating about the axis.

No matter her teasing favors were a source of pride for her.

No matter her bitter timeworn lancets were observers of my emotions.

She forgot lively magical moments.

My breath's flavored buds

Fell down from the branch

dissolving in the haughtiness of her blood.

Wearing my ear's rags I wander a lot.

Moments remained crying

in the sleepy tomb.