PREFACE
The sun may shine but all is dark stormy is life for the sick soul
No spring but winters gloom no love but festering moods of blackest night
With a sick-souls dead gaze a black pall spreads o’er all
nourished on poison all acrid and dark
a sole soul sick wanders the universe with cold stare poisoning the air with each breath out breathed the world doth turn the seasons circle on but for the soul sick no spring nor love nor happiness nor joyous glee till a transfiguration for he or she