You are either the flying destiny itself or the forgotten roadside of life…
You are either like a tree from roots to top or a rootless house plant…
Your eyes are either diamonds with kind intensity or grey stones from the road…
Your body is either like an ocean breeze or a miry harbor…
Your arms are either like sensual wings or sticky mud…
Your thoughts are either like breakers or shapeless clay…
Your steps are either like the spring wind’s rustle or field slush in autumn…
Your acts are either like monsoons in a desert or biting wicked knocking over wind …
Your love is like a clean brook or a dirty neglected well…
Your world is a wonderful May palace made of pink petals or useless dust…
Your face is either an emerald crown or a withered tree that lost its leaves for ever…
