What is happy from a bed of flowers
Mere colors are left to flutter
Green looking blue and soon turns paler
Red withers and be no more

Sitting still acting pretty
Rotten roots that no one see
Hide in depth to become nightmare
That is happy from a bed of flowers

Slumping sun and puking clouds
Mourning moon and raging  breeze
Haunted soil and this ill world
Have kept themselves to wonder;
What is happy from a bed of flowers