I have timid thoughts tonight.
They wander from the north to the south, where the wind calls my name and the trees cry for me.
I cannot say what one means by that term.
Love is more or less undetermined.
The mind cannot comprehend it’s definition.
From one moment to the next, it changes.
Constant. But like the land that’s cultivated, it can fall apart.
Without water for nutrients it cannot grow. It does like the words of hate.
In rage it burns out.
Endearment or Curse