I Am But to Grasp

Wandering gypsies,
and the audio-autos,
that "whriff".....when they've supposed to "whirl"
can claim the girl.

What to do ?
Man spies a bride looking away
then, deep inside he's counterproductive
but, for the child.

The wintry realm of the night
laughs, alone.
so, fogotten are the fogs
that I cannot help but nestle next to you,

down below,
there is a breath with a cry.
and sorrow is the iniquity of the heart
Why can't you understand ?

You, are the siren.....singing.
Yours, are the pinwheels that are making their turn;
and forgotten, again am I...
...for I am but to grasp.