I can see the smoke,

Rising up, through the chimineys

Of my heart, I can’t poke

Into her heart, further any,

She is the smoke,

I can’t stop her go,

Yet, it is, forest of oak

My heart, trees that’re low

Burn off, giving ashes,

Over these, they grow,

The better oak; clashes

The older ones, they flow,

Her gases out of my heart

Letting talents to pop out-

To fill this cart, my heart,

For its glory to shout.

A broken heart, I would call

A thing that really rocks

It can transform all

The world, life & still rocks.

It rocks, it can’t be ceased

Passing time, burns it up

And calibre is still leased

To fill this endless cup.