So long we fight in flames br Every moment and each day br Something played all through… br How much they sound, br How much I cursed you, br And at the end of that frightful night br It has nothing to do with the br Next morning might; a crisp br Another day, repeat and repeat br Till showers fill a top as before. br br Why the cuckoo sings the first spring? br As though we also start caging br He will hand me one poem br “Retrospective, ” may it be blank and white.