I had sought the innocent lover
     (I could turn my hand from conflict forever!)
so long frequenting the masters and servants;
     drinking it in, smoking it out. They swear
the innocent lover has left the building.
     Now I have turned a corner and lost
sight of an innocent beauty. 
     My door opens to my own key,
unrelieved, I claim sanctuary.
     Don't hound me to admit this is my own street
when I confess I believe I have taken a wrong turn.
     I hear you sing the chorus, the harmony is good,
but anguished cries of animals resemble no song.
     Only they'll direct my little footsteps
in the processional life 
     I urge you to be more conscious of.