Done

It is tragic of my generation to see the riches instead of Life's simple purity in the bosom that is within To feel the caress in play that is quite the opposite of sin Money does not appeal to my appetite The wallet that is mine will collect not a $100 bill but the essence that surrounds our outside The breath of the air Warmth of the fall sun Sounds that the flock of animals make Feathers from the eagles and her younglings Done with the folly of premarital relations Ignoring the hospitality of a simple peasant from the street I need to go beyond the world face the penance accept now