Place Gifts Of Silver In Our Hands.

I Have Forgotten Your Love, Yet I Seem To Glimpse You In Every Window.

Love, How Many Roads To Obtain A Kiss.

The Morning Is Full Of Storm In The Heart Of Summer. The Clouds Travel Like White Handkerchiefs Of Goodbye, The Wind, Travelling, Waving Them In Its Hands. The Numberless Heart Of The Wind Beating Above Our Loving Silence. Orchestral And Divine, Resounding Among The Trees Like A Language Full Of Wars And Songs.

Between Lips And Lips There Are Cities Of Great Ash And Moist Summit, Drops Of When And How, Vague Comings And Goings: Between Lips And Lips As Along A Shore Of Sand And Glass The Wind Passes.

My Duty Moves Along With My Song: I Am I Am Not: That Is My Destiny. I Exist Not If I Do Not Attend To The Pain Of Those Who Suffer: They Are My Pains. For I Cannot Be Without Existing For All, For All Who Are Silent And Oppressed, I Come From The People And I Sing For Them: My Poetry Is Song And Punnishment.