My Soul Is An Empty Carousel At

I Want To Do With You What The Spring Does With The Cherry Trees.

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

Do Tears Not Yet Spilled Wait In Small Lakes?

Hour Of Nostalgia, Hour Of Happiness, Hour Of Solitude.

I Love You As Certain Dark Things Are To Be Loved, In Secret, Between The Shadow And The Soul.