What good is a life, that is unaware of comfortable silences? What else remains after the unashamed parade of vain senses? What word play shall I stitch to thank those pools that look back at me, Oblivious of the gift they have become to a nomad's fragmented existences.
Fair maiden, fair maiden, do you wear me to amplify your grace? Fair maiden, fair maiden, do you really need my presence to surface? What good is my existence on your slender finger when, You yourself are a rare jewel regardless of time, zone or place.