I’d puncture your shield of sorrow
With the last living little flower in the dried up bouquet,
With the shortest strain of music caught from the radio of a passing car,
With the briefest scene from a romantic film caught on TV as I run between errands,
With the smallest patch of sky seen from amongst the top of multitude of buildings,
With the minutest whiff of fragrance as she hurries past me, looking ahead on the road,
With the smallest piece of that wonderful cake that I munch before lunch,
And I will WIN! WIN!! WIN!!!
In millions of ways in millions of times . . .