this song is dedicated to my dad.
Go on east of ginger trees.
Go soft and silent like the breeze.
With ease be off and wander
in yon wilderness of clove.
Go on past the goldenrods,
where fools and angels lose their odds.
And gods of our ancestors
did immerse themselves in clove.
Go on toward the crimson shore,
beyond this life of metaphors.
Where doors of understanding’s house
decorates he them with clove.