A Beautiful Mind

I cannot tell you what it is
– it has no wrong, nor is it a sin.
Like the thorn grows on the Winter rose,
like the venomous snake born
in the Summer grass.

If you mean to curse,
turn me into a tree to wither
for the Winter hill,
burn my body to ashes
for the Autumn wind.

It's merely a beautiful mind,
like the rays of the sun
means to touch the Earth,
like the light of the moon
means to paint the Field.

2008.03.28, 4:53:54 PM, Friday.
Plymouth, United Kingdom.