boughes are got frost.
my soul grieves slightly.
rose writes you.
nightengale takes a skein but endures.
ıf your hands' fire touch once, ıt wil paint my colour a thousand loves.
a spring evening is gloom for me and
your eyes are sunset too.
ı burn.
the embers which inside hurls your ashes
ıf day burns out (ayyy)
ı can't burn out
seal is on tongue
the say which inside me is spread the roads.
ıf she says, ı can't say
that ı love her