Joyous and resound,
the world is ours for now.
The bare shade won't weep,
all the secrets we shall keep.

The bitterness of the cold,
and it's decadent snare, won't corrupt
our hearts towards the sunlight's lair.

Nor the frost among our toes,
as the dew of morning's rise.
Will our spirits break and repose,
the restoration of brillant shine.

Loose your leavened gown, enough
for my waking hand, enough
for a kiss so sound, without
stirring the dreary land.

As the shine disperses in couplets,
not one less for each fair leaf.
Shall we take way so lovely,
facading the pure air we breathe.

For the path we take is shone,
but only if we believe.
For the artisian to some unknown,
yet his ground lain beneath our feet.

If splendour in craft not shown,
than his kin we surely seek.
One is not alone,
for all hearts he loves and keeps.

For the steps ahead not known,
but the path gleams gold discrete.
May the morning's glory glow,
and our souls rejoice and reap,

The ember of a waking dream.