The wine is tasteless, were it not for the lips that drink,
The roses colourless, were it not for the eyes that paint,
The spirits empty, were it not for the bodies that yearn,
And the sun cold, were it not for the lovers running the open planes.
Life plays not in the open air,
The world unfolds not on the universe’s stage,
They play and unfold in the heart and soul of human desire.