Aren’t all my rights close to all your wrongs?
Aren’t all my words near your silence of long?
We never talk, yet we have the same say.
We never see the other, yet we look the same way.
The winter chill that creeps around me,
whispers songs of love to your cold heart that noone sees.
The summer bloom in your garden glorious
meets my warm blood on walks clandestinely amorous.
But, all your wrongs are all my rights
and all my silences are your words’ delight.