Shake me like the breeze shakes the trees,
Shake free the leaves, leave them leave, leave them leave.
Leave reaves of grieving sentiment,
Cemented increment at the roots,
As certain as an owl that hoots,
Hell bent on picking fruits.
Heart heavy in your boots.
Weave tapestries of life on your suits:
Heave your arrow as it shoots.
Don't deceive the apple of my eye,
This isn't just pie in the sky.
Leave you bereaved like Burroughs as I die,
High on boredom of the mind,
Furrows the brow of the kin of your kind.
Find freedom in the blind
'See no evil!', wails of innocence pined.
These avenues are lined,
Trunks of history, encase the endless rings of mystery,
Chunks of love engraved and defined.
Refined letters of chiseled bark,
Harm the message enslaved by blood of the heart,
Inclined to follow as straight as a dart.
Love is a subjective art,
Reckless in part,
Where you ultimately end may be where you start.