A mist of memory lingers in my mind,
Of spirits pulsing freely with the wind.
Butterflies sang back, petals soft shined,
We’d dance among the roses, blooming, grinned.

Are these the wells in which I sink my dreams?
Sudden blur your presence fading fright.
Rest with me through travelling crystalline,
Vivid Iris always has his night.

Tiny prophet taught me joy in life,
Pure bliss of icy creeks and summer shade.
But wonder, halted, it cannot suffice,
In June the final days of our parade.

You will afar sing softly yet so proud,
For ever more you’ll be a tuft of cloud.