I just met the most beautiful girl so awesomely in love.  But not with me.  Her heart’s rage abounds romantically unconstrained for the lover she awaits—the one she hasn’t yet met.  Not eye to eye.  Not lips pressed to lips.  The sun shines, her heart glows—‘tis only a golden eternity.

How long should one wait for love?  How many young lasses a'passioned waiting for their white knights on golden steeds have grown tending to old without ever planting, yet never abandoning the seed of unmatchable dreams?  And for a man, is it not the same?  To look.  And expect.  And wait...oh Patience, Grasshopper.  Hop another blade of grass.

Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to w-o-r-…to w-a-r… to l-u-v we go.

How can I so see everything and feel so much, yet remain untouched?  You’d recognize me as the fool on the hill, if I were on the hill , but I’m not.  I’m living, breathing, jumping, running, flying…sailing through this world of immensities, some intimately heartfelt, many otherwise, seemingly forever tangential to love’s torrent outpour of consuming finality.

I sometimes wear the costume of the fool, but am never seen.