Eternally given. Seek
The flowers of the

Soul.

Be an eye. 
Say Soul. It is a fearful thing.
Hard and warm, it takes men
To do.

Moving weary the birds of men
Are too full of war to know
Flying.

These are lain in broken streets
Where death fills his jolly
Hands. He smiles. But love
Weeps.

Life and youth and the souls of men
Weep,
And are not comforted.