Rey Sanidad

Oh, the poets may sing of their Lady Loves,
And may rave in their rhymes about wonderful women,
But I throw my poetical wings to the breeze,
And soar in a song to my own lady friend.
...

The years are slowly creeping on
Beneath the summer sun
Yet, still in silent love and peace
Your life serenely run.
...

How still it is here in this colored mountains.
The trees stand motionless, as if they did not dare
To stir, lest it should break the spell.
The air hangs quiet as spaces in a marble freeze.
...

Shall our memories live, when the rain drops above us
And marks our last home with the rushing of mud water?
Shall the voices of those who profess that they love us
Ever mention our names, as we dreamlessly sleep?
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In my whole life, pain and misery dwelt in my heart
But the pain in my heart was gone when I met you
Hope and happiness came to me at a glance
Its not that we are together or feel each other
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She is like a book that I read
Turning the pages carefully caressing
Its essence the words, letters, appreciating
Never wanting to dropp it until the end.
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When presses hard my load of care,
And other friends from me depart,
I want a friend my grief to share,
With faithful speech and loving heart.
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Comes a time in your life, as you are drifting
Someone enters in your life,
Just walks in and stole your heart
Before your very eyes.
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How dear to me the hour when daylight dies,
And sunbeams melt along the silent sea,
For then sweet dreams of other days arise,
And memory breathes her vesper sigh to you.
...

As Time was weaving the garland of years,
To crown my dear Friend was given,
Though some of the leaves might be sullen with tears,
Yet the flowers were all gathered in heaven.
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More than once I have heard at night
A song like those your lip has given,
And it was sung by shapes of light,
Who looked and breathed, like you, of heaven.
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For some the river of life would seem
Free from the shallow, the reef, or bar,
As they gently glide down the silvery stream
With scarcely a ripple, a lurch, or jar.
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If to be absent were to be away from you
Or that, when I am gone, You or I were alone;
Then, my friend, might I crave
Pity from blustering wind or swallowing wave.
...

What do poets want with gold?
Are not crusts and old garments better for their souls than these?

Gold is but the juggling rod of a false usurping god,
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She loves to tread the solitudes,
The forests and the trackless woods,
Where nature, undisturbed by man,
Pursues her voluntary plan.
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Looking on the roaring ocean,
Which divides my friend and me
Wearying heaven in warm devotion,
For her welfare wherever she may be.
...

Unhoused in deserts of accepted thought,
And lost in jungles of confusing creeds,
My soul strayed, homeless, finding its own needs
Unsatisfied with what tradition taught.
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When silently you listen to sad Music,
And tears on those eyelids tremble like dew,
Then there dwells in those eyes as they glisten
A sweet holy charm that happiness never knew.
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Think, when a man is sighing,
What danger in such an adorer!
What woman can dream of denying
The hand that lays garlands before her?
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Start where you stand and never mind the past,
The past won't help you in beginning anew,
If you have left it all behind at last why, that's enough,
You're done with it, you're through;
...