Wild burns the Sun to serve heat; Wide spreads the Night to soak it, But have they ever seen the Dawn, so mild and free?
Ants and bees... Is that the way it is?
In the raging roar of their dashing world, Your smile and dream is all that is on. For eyes not marking smut on the snow, The flowers blossom on dusty cold stones.
Sage winds in verdure ramble; Dewdrops on petals tremble, Under the feet, absorbing the warmth of carbon clouds.