if patience against malice has a name, let it not be muttered, for all the saints would know better to weep, than to criticise first, let the bitterness of lillies be shrunk to fit into a palm, for anger cannot be grasped longer for than when it is yearned, let these ill desires be named and those names be ruined, for this will be a place constructed not in time, but by time, and hidden forms of deep caves would be found in reflections, not of mirrors and rivers, but in words, all soft and muttered, and in the loud ones too. so heave and leave, for the bitterness of lillies shall always remain pure, and the quicker the wickedly warms you up, the better you'd be played against your desires. ~ sb