In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:
the Sun has risen, the birds sing songs,
the tide washes over the white shells
to lick the knees of tall cypress trees.
Soft clouds populate the tired skies
with careful grammar, or complete thoughts
in the guise of meaningful sentences,
while verses remind me of a lost love.
But how I caught it, I am yet to learn;
how the tumult of loose feeling sways
the vessel of my being under stars
so white! And how the tossing of a sail
has wrecked my ship upon the rocks! But
I know not where this tempest was born.
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