There are fallen angels in the way you look and great bridges over silent streams in your smile. Your gestures are a lonly princess dreaming over a book at a window over a lake, on some distant isle.

Life lived us, not we life.
We, as bees sip,
Looked,
Talked and had.
Trees grow as we did last.
We loved the gods,
But as we see a ship.
Never aware of being aware,
We passed.
And dream...