Tied up high, like holy saints
No string does loose fly
From nocturnal dark pages
From extra work affairs;
Morning cultivates lists of day
Smaller in number of hours
Differ and make all difference,
When recepies mix in paper,
Imprints shake and shook heart,
Running for clumsy chores of day
No time remain to felicitate
Those crimes all done, with care
All steps does the lower limbs walk
To reach and teach another
Till midnight broad, till hours
Passed nights in solitude of works
Works of personal letters
When all day squeezes breaths,
Still falling eyes regret, repent
To weary hours further
To satisfy breaths of day
And sunlight energy boosts
To satisfy all clumsy crimes
By adding on more few!