in streets of tears, darkness as trees,
in graves lie dreams, agony rustles
as there comes a serein,
thy always brought up a rosarin!

He sews gossamers of hues
with sun rays as needles,
on every rose leaf to another,
to bathe and flux in leaf greens!

'gliding gliding in pools of
fragrances,
rushing rushing on gossamers,
swirling swirling in honey,
not an interlude I land
here shaking hand with an ant,
touching backs of glow worms! '

By now tired, look up for delicious night;
He sits on the crescent moon
filling voids of hunger by music
of bloating stars at his finger tips!

Of no residence, every hook I rejoice
in conveyance, He use no corner to sermonize,
carry my senses through his sight
encircling distances despite!

in quiver, its warmth upto brims
rolling down as I breathe,