Jon Anderson Poems
|4.||Exiled On Mountain, Bewail Fate &Amp; Praise Autumn||1/13/2003|
|6.||The Secret Of Poetry||1/13/2003|
The Secret Of Poetry
When I was lonely, I thought of death.
When I thought of death I was lonely.
I suppose this error will continue.
I shall enter each gray morning
Delighted by frost, which is death,
& the trees that stand alone in mist.
When I met my wife I was lonely.
Our child in her body is lonely.
I suppose this error will go on & on.
Morning I kiss my wife's cold lips,
Nights her body, dripping with mist.
This is the error that fascinates.
I suppose you are secretly lonely,
Thinking of death, thinking of love.
I'd like, please, ...