The clouds' slow rhythms bless the heart.

The nature is touching by warmest part.

Some sort of understanding allows the feelings settle.

The rhythm's blow turns off the candle.


The lazy bright of the sun

starts the monologue for the run.

In that comfortable position

has it's untalkative permission.


The moments which one would live again

have rushed too rapidly away.

The special closeness

is rarely hopeless.


The experience in itself goes on and on,

but the fortune hunter cuts in and wins the ton?

An absolute nap is never bad.

The scissors cut the snags,

moving the new caps.


Thought happens by itself with the difference that's difference.