Ever Harvest told Winter a fairy story?
Or a bud whispered to Fall, Oh my Miss?
Ever Sun arouse high at night a victory?
Or trees loved Vela as dawn is what they miss?

Ever a rose leant warmly to a pale history?
Or a sparrow thought a sparrow how to hiss?
Ever darkness swept off its feet a glory?
Or glory waved to a shadow a soft kiss?

My hope exiled for blooming not in a hole,
For singing his morrow proudly from a hall.
Some give birth to colors as pallid breezes howl,
And some step on rainbows or hang them all.

No matter why rise or even when set,
You moon sink in a gap feeling wet.
Candles cry to gift to your ages a breath,
And your wax longs to send mine beneath.

I see my end ends before your start begins,
To hug those farewells of hers and his,
And tell the earth what a rainy day means,
And why clouds croon in a grain’s dreams.

As I meet you dear snowy dove,
You will shine and dance again like a clove,
No lost flight and no stray move,
Only this land, you and me and Love.