On God, shall we envision old flowers.
Landscape, they stand on greenscape.
Definality? We shall define them gold.

Crumble a star! Shall a new be born?
I'm none but a witness for them.
The new generation shall build anew.
Yule horror? No! Shall they wither!

For it is who deemed true,
shall abide for amendments.
For it is who deemed boredom,
shall a man spread flowers.

Whom for man?
It is human, a human...
A human, from the mankind,
waiting on the cliff for someone.

For me, a pen
and smudged ink on the table.
For them, the sky and clouds.
For them shall decipher
For them, a skybreak.

Fire, for him and for us.
A small sacrifice for our enjoyment.
A small temporary heat
to warm the hearts and its owner.

Sunrise shall arrive by the end line of the sea.
For us a small savor against its motherly silk.
Flower a fragrant, and its fragile beauty against almighty.
Asoothed by him, shall no devil bloom against our wither.

Landscapes shall ruin against greenscapes!
Change! The frame of stone caligraphs for a green curvy paint.
Wither shall not bloom against you.

"Ah, an arriving creature," shall us wave a misty silk of greenscapes.
Shall us, greet a warm candle in winters.
Shall us be not a wither to others.
Let us be a witness for the wandering cavern voices.

For us a new start...
For whom should we serve?
Ah, a pen..
Write aside a candle?
What a moment I miss...