Morning birds sing at the
Mourning hours
In the dead of the night
By the wilting tower.

Wise owls fly during the
Sunlit day
To guide us on the path
That we lost our way.

Whichever hour
That of the moon
Or that of the flower
Love will be devoured
By the wilting tower.

Melting time is like the
Wilting mind
Which alters our perception
Of reverie and reality.