Yes its true, I might miss you,
But the morning brings long suffering to me;
The pictures that be, I’m forced to see,
You have time for them but not me.

The beautiful restart, wasn’t very smart,
It brought time of words never spoken;
It’s the same of the same, no matter who to blame,
A game of the heart thats already broken.

Words are words, like feathers of birds,
Slight of hand bring forth the next attraction;
Do we mean what we say? At the end of the day?
I live NOT by words but by action.

Never to be asked, I meant my words of last,
The text had solution to mend;
But always to and fro, this path will we go,
The same will last us to the end.

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Niklaus Corvinus Moroi

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