The rivers and the ocean will claim his skin clean as their own.
The mountain will whisper the story of his broken heart to the clouds,
And the sun will pity the sky, and she will cry tears for him.
And, in the morning the dandelions and lilacs will awaken with the dew pure of his youth sweeping their brow into the soil.
The dirt will smile for each footprint it keeps, and each footprint it counts until lift off and he's flew from it.
The wind will whistle his song as it did into his ear even before he’d heard it first.
The animals will gossip of his courage, and edify him as a beautiful fool with whom they've with, and learned from, and each star his eye’s met will witness to the animals testimony.
The moon will keep his secrets, and soften pale the path of his lurking lusts, lest his fellowmen follow.
And of these, none will have spared his soul to burn with love.
For with man there is non to share as he would with his woman.
