Poets

A cuckoo wails find my attention wrong When that bird weeps in the form of a song Mercy my overflows and longs to be kind So far a hart bitterly affected find

His equivocation Is asking for a complex thought Whose flight of fancy And exuberant words

Because in free moments Watching through the spreading eyes of binocular, Brief account of existence is found, in the circular routine And rejection of that rock's placement on the hill;