I am going to sunset, to pompadour heaven.
Pilgrim sans bundle and rider sans horse.
World is still woven, world is newly crumpled
It is pattern of fortune and for me it is worth.
I am drinking fresh air. What should I do then?
My rhyme will return with best spring of the life.
Recollection of living spices up my existence.
And I want You to be inspiration of mine.