What must it be like to look back on a life of successful writing? I can only wonder.
This poem was written some time ago, - after having a sensible encounter with a lady... Nothing real came out of it, just this poem...
Any comment??
This poem also is part of my history as a poet. I have requested a new category for it: 'Spiritual romanticism'. I still like it, although it is far from my reality now.
This poem needs some correction and I would like to rewrite it, but I prefer to write a new poem and leave it like it is.
