We each must create our love
A noble portion set apart
Wherein passions coincide
To cherish love beyond the lust
That fashions love the sire of greed.
But this world suffers naught
Of pride or greed or lust or love,
Nor heeds the impassioned cry
Where notice begs the barest hint.
A carousel around the sun
Hurling through the vast abyss
Where whirling, twirling motions preside,
This earth obliges none its favor
But air to breathe and ground to stride,
Indifferent of all mortal call.