CHEERLESS is the day, the light under frowning clouds is like a punished child with traces of tears on its pale cheeks, and the cry of the wind is like the cry of a wounded world. But I know I am travelling to meet my Friend.
SHE LEFT ME her flower of smile taking my fruit of pain. She clapped her hands and said, she had won. The noon had eyes like the mad, red thirst raged in the sky. I opened the basket and found the flower dead.