He Who Is Not Loved

Has a cold sad heart, Winding down like a clock with its parts, The days and years are shorter, They would be longer if he is a courter, Those hearts are lost in winterstorms, Snowflakes falling into nothingness that mourn, With trees that follow with their permanent shades, Killing hearts slowly with branches that are blades, Those weary souls that cry at night, Trapped in hell by hearts that never see light, And when that love door is opened wide, Hearts will mingle and walk with stride, They pet and pet love set free, Comforting under bright hot suns colossally, That love that stare’s in the face, Will make men whole on this earthly place, Pollen blowing through the air, Unleashed by pistols fired everywhere without despair, To depart this world with seeds left behind, A man’s lot is love immortal and she is kind.