Lost hymn, though melody hath died.
And no spore dares to spring the season life.
Not a petal turns hence, upon my step.
Onward this day since, I folly every breath.

As blue receives white, and retrieves fluid eyes.
I see their dance! Of the serenade of love, among the sky.
I see valleys and groves afar, manifold in lieu.
As the day shines to, the retention of the blue.

Ghastly, I take mine eyes from the dying light.
To the north only, shall I place my eyes.
For, this rhyme has only designation,
To see the splendour of nature, and to believing your lies.

What hath I become,
To my malicious eyes?
I am not the one.
I am not the one.