Waning, waxing, and not dyeing.

Dear, you are the lot

I most misunderstood.

Sometimes you wane,

Sometimes you wax,

And when it is so, you intrigue.

I came there in abandonment,

Grown over your lukewarm gesture

But you greeted me with open arms,

In absence of known friends.

Yes, though away, I ripple you.

It is more than an embrace.

11.10.2001.