Not all that finds something worthwhile,
Cherishes the worth thereof forever;
The beauty and glitter of gold is
But for a while,
And the loft of costliest stones
Erode as desire and lust of man wane.
But find the man who finds love;
He bears similitude with the one
Who finds a treasure,
Hides it, then, goes and sell all
That he has to buy the field.
He bears semblance with the one
Who finds a good thing
And favour from above.
The most precious things
Are the most difficult to come by:
I have been on the watch
From the womb of dawn,
And my escapade
From the birth of the sun
To the dead of dusk,
Perchance I might find this treasure,
Godly made and saintly sent.
Alas! Upon this bank rose another sun,
And in its prism I find love,
One to treasure with the whole of my heart.
Ajoke, if your tears are worth more than gold
In all its beauty and crazy chase of man thereof,
And the sound of your weep,
Set of fine stones,
For love I will defy the loft of costliest stones,
And their adorning grace despise.
If thoughts were images,
And the face of man
A mirror to his heart,
So many fine faces would portray
Old hags, wretched witch,
Robed in shreds and rags.
But in you face I see beauty beyond
The facades of the Moulder\’s mastery,
And awesomeness at creation;
I see through your titillating eyeballs,
Carefully caved and awesomely rendered,
To the depth of your heart,
Where reside peace and acceptance,
Yet, hardly ever found is such in this clime.
Let my lines fall
In the pleasant places
Of your heart,
And find grace