I tore pages from Petrarch's Il Canzoniere
And ate them to quell my sighs,Because every thought of you
Arouses a strange wind
That blows the pages of my heart open
And scatters them across the floor,
I pick them up hurriedly,
For fear of you reading them.
As I collect the last page on the ground,
I find that I still have one missing,
I am frantically searching for it, but in the end,
My heart has surrendered this piece.
I stand there in the gentle wind,
Clinching the remaining bundle close to me,
And I sigh gently.
