xiii
I never told you about myself
      I am me, me is I; like a lonely serf.
I have written my autobiography
      it could bore you through eternity.

xiv
You spoke of what lies ahead
      Of things and plans in your head.
I was beyond those thoughts
      The man of poems, not sought.

xv
I walked you home that night
      And left our worries behind.
Your silhouette made by light
      Remained here in my lonesome mind.

xvi
The dawn was breaking anew
      In bed, still I cannot sleep.
The night I think just flew
      The words we said shall keep.