My dear
To be a yellow and black weasel or to be a fox, which one is good?
Or to sail the heart into your dark blue wind
Or to love the rising of the sun of our seas with its rain, with its snow
And to say how nice it is?
Or to sing songs with a tired life embracedly in the quietness of a silent bay
After the hard storms?
Or is a desire only to love the near and the easy
Or is it to say what is this fire place, the one left behind?
My dear
To miss you such
Or not to miss you?