The flowing winds of sapphire deep;

Longing that in which we do creep

Yet the winds of old do not concur with bold waters wish seeped

Never know; Never when; Never to see the face again

In those sprinkling waters crisp, reflections are transparently amidst

Everlasting and immortal; Amoral in their measures hence

The red dye of flowers dancing as they die; Doth proclaim they shall never touch the sky

Sacred petals nesting at the bottom; Attesting what is their solemn cry

Falling deep their being is carried away; Day upon day they would say; Goodbye, goodbye.