does the prettiest flower light a horizon prettier than her? Can any martingale sing a melody with her perfection? Heaven is on the horizon, a glow of earthly crimson, An orchard of apple trees, set on a hill in dimming backlight. Blossoms glow from her limbs. Seasons work magic, Calm is all a glow, distance is relative, when seeing life renewed. Life is a circle, of red glimmers and yellow hues.