This is not a poem and I'm not a poet,
For all the dearest themes were all gone and quite.
I cannot endure any sweet but counterfeit fragrance.
They'd already flown away in remote distance.
My shy and pale soul is waning in the air,
In the darkness all the memory are shaking in despair.
Come! My love. Do not just stand far far away!
Without your love, my breath wander more more astray.
Beyond the water the moon sings in duet.
That melody float by me as a complete riot.
I hope my slumber provides fair guidance,
To limbo, to hell, and to heavenly radiance.
No Alice, no jabberwocky, nor little white hare.
Only a canoe drifted long ashore to the lonely grey gare.
In the end, "I love you," the signal of the foray you say,
Which permanently capture me down to infatuated decay.