The clouds were rain,
the wind blowed its sound,
the river was a flow,
the flowers bloomed the ground.

Colourful morning at the mountain,
shinning stars just disappeared,
vanished Moon above the horizon,
peeking Sun, golden fountain, sinking feared.

Neverending green hills, I walked,
lofty trees, illusion,  impression,
throught the shadows, in the mist,
throught my visions in a tryst.

Alive in the distant,
dead on my lament,
like a moan, left alone,
felt so tragic, not so magic,
said my head, in a moment,
spelled a crying, a tying.