A storm; weather which wears the stone in two,
The rose; which from her sisters, I took for you.
The warm; the blood that flows from head to toe,
and the words; words which we utter to and fro.

Simple gifts, water and life, as trivial as empty speech-
Yet, how can these mere earthly things have heavenly reach?
But, I forget, as I stand cold and wet, winds blowing by,
That I have made my trek to these steps to catch an angel's eye.

My arms outstretched, branches grasping for the sun;
The sacrifice of the bush set for this wholly, holy one.
There stands I, bare of pride, daring never to feign
Feign my love for Elysium in this eternal rain.