With withered air I fall in deep,
The oceans lies of harbor.
Bring the tides to bide and sleep.
The truth is infinite and larger.
Beckon not the dancing moon,
Upon the wolf and pup,
Till jungles sweep the sweet romance,
Wakening all the virgin growth on up.
Breaking leaves they gently fall,
And die on grounds despair.
As gentle breezes blow their all.
Godly like an angels hair.
The darkness dawns the red of love,
And nights are quietly kept.
Within the hearts of skies above.
As romanticism, dreaming slept.