Seldom have I seen a finer portrait of married love.
Like day and night, the one defines the other, and yet they cannot coexist.
Can I seek joy, satisfaction, without my love?
The dawning sky with all its brilliant hue will soon be gone...
Can you imagine what it must be like to forget your past?
A Tritina about love
In the spirit of Walt Whitmas, a "song of myself."
Sunny Sunday afternoon— perfect time to sway in the hammock, staring blankly into the foliage that towers above me and dances to the music of my mind....
Time moves far too slowly. Oh, how much I miss you!
To you it may be just another name, but to me it's a song of heaven.