The Sun is a white ball behind
Thin cloud, while crows dance on gusts of wind
In high delight of heart and wing,
Till now from perch of pine whirling
In pairs or more they flock to dart
And gaily glide, to gather then part.
My love is away, leaving me to wander
Through pining desert, finding succor
In learning’s glade of palm Paradise.
I draw on love’s steep well of blood
To green my soul and temper my mood
In a country where knights clash for the prize
Of a noble woman’s passionate heart,
Desirous embrace and surrendering eyes,
For hands that trace the astral chart
Of conquest, sly her smile wicked wise.