G r e e n E y e s . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Dripping dews from the frozen greens of dim Norwegian woods
Like sorrow latent at the tips of endless pointy coldness
A coniferous tree is lonely in its multitude today
as its tears pale with green.

Leaves of grass doeth in winter evening weep,
with slow frost, their tender tips lowered
beneath the shades of invisible deep shadowed forest;
Never have I seen thy eyes wet with evening tender sorrow
Crystalized tears are they that insipid heatless morning dawning green;

And lonely am I.