My love is the seventh sense;
Before which there is no meaning.
My love is birth and death at once;
Would not die after dreaming.
My love is the light that dances on waves;
That spins the oceans, and foams its enclaves.
My love is the rushing of flocks on wing;
The voice in the heart of the forest that sings.
My love is the seventh sense;
Before which there is no meaning.
My love is the sky and whine of ocean;
She will not die after dreaming.
My love is the silence of a windless day;
Spring snows on top of the bare mountain.
She is the babble from the brooks;
And the air that steeps in secret fountains.
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 2:21 PM UTC
My love is the seventh sense;
Before which there is no meaning.
My love is birth and death at once;
Would not die after dreaming.
My love is the light that dances on waves;
That spins the oceans, and foams its enclaves.
My love is the rushing of flocks on wing;
The voice in the heart of the forest that sings.
My love is the seventh sense;
Before which there is no meaning.
My love is the sky and whine of ocean;
She will not die after dreaming.
My love is the silence of a windless day;
Spring snows on top of the bare mountain.
She is the babble from the brooks;
And the air that steeps in secret fountains.
