If the twinkle doesn’t show and the frog dies, and truth remains unknown. How much to cater for? What song to sing, what bargain for the shadow? Laid on my heart, unless tomorrow I die. Visit early. For my years spent, I can’t live it another night. Will you remain with me till the fall? He died and took his promise with him, and left me alone here in this cold.
Poetic Diaries of Sylvester Van-Johnson 