Though thirty spring times exactly have I seen
No stone God on earth spoke to me so keen
Of hunger silhouetted against the sky
And devils singing serenades at their tones high,
Or profane customs dangling to beliefs old
Or the ugly acts of a groom to be sold.
If spring smiles coy with hopes in her face,
Will the stone God bless and pour His grace?
No springtime keel sang woeful melodies
Accompanied by the chorus of humble bees,
Of the lecherous priest who caressed light
The sinless widows’ curves over-clad in white
Promising immaculate path to heaven
To meet thousand eyes awaiting in heaven.