• Smothered and crushed, with will evanescent,
    A man unrequited collapses on my balcony

    Which of those sweet, merciful red-breasts sing to him?
    None, for him there is no Spring in a life of lasting Winter.

    The cold chills echo from his back to mine.

    I bury the body next day, to only find another,
    Yet another, sweet singing red-breast perching
    On my windowpane

    I batted it away from it's unwelcome intrusion to
    Wherever it was when that poor urchin of a man
    Withered away in silence.