Such are lovers more than grace can seem
The pictures of the immaculate
Even their heaven bows to this earth
The fairest, beautiful and withered
Not even nature's own shapes can imagine
Shameless and splendid with youth
The winds now blow with feathers
And tomorrow I wer them
How the trees bow to subtlety
And eden has fathered their souls
Savour the nights for rain
Your impetus has left me shapeless
Beat the passion and carve me in sand
Wondrous skills, fountains of the tomorrow
A journey for dead lovers as even grief was sorry
