Summer's breath of fire calls,
appearing now in burning squalls;
Mistaken for the candle's light,
which crosses paths of eerie nights.

A midnight storm then sweeps away,
the golden images of children at play;
In the morning dew our visions lie,
as reflections mirror a turbulent sky.

Resounding through our raging hours,
tormented by our hopes devoured;
The water's edge at nature's stream,
revives the emptiness of dreams.

Let's fly through days which tell the story,
of sweetened honeysuckle's glory;
In green grasses lingers a sound retreat,
our paths have crossed beyond defeat.