So many words
So many words are said about the early love
Who doesn’t really want to be as God above
Creating private world by twisting usual clay
Discovering rare feature of such amazing lay
But worth of clay is known by the sculptor only
Who feels some autumn changes playing lonely
When time has passed and everything is known
When cricket knows its place to serenade alone
When flowers’ colorful blossom is double coming
And superstitious thrill makes own birth becoming
When word is not issue and nothing more to gain
When world is behind, but here’s happiness again