Whirlwind of fury
O, tempest of thought
Of glistering diamonds
in aged trees left to rot
Gowan and orcid
with grace, blossom forth!
Crystals of water
that fall from sky north.
Fantoccinist of plenty
of fantasists' dreams
Controlled with a grip
with which iron would deem.
"Man Touching Man" splendour
Colors lightened and rough
Beethovens composures
Naught beauty enough
No word could describe it
This feeling of flight
I know not what too call it
But I know it feels right.