Fire, for him and for us.
A small sacrifice for our enjoyment.
A small temporary heat
to warm the hearts and its owner.

Sunrise shall arrive by the end line of the sea.
For us a small savor against its motherly silk.
Flower a fragrant, and its fragile beauty against almighty.
Asoothed by him, shall no devil bloom against our wither.

Landscapes shall ruin against greenscapes!
Change! The frame of stone caligraphs for a green curvy paint.
Wither shall not bloom against you.

"Ah, an arriving creature," shall us wave a misty silk of greenscapes.
Shall us, greet a warm candle in winters.
Shall us be not a wither to others.
Let us be a witness for the wandering cavern voices.

For us a new start...
For whom should we serve?
Ah, a pen..
Write aside a candle?
What a moment I miss...

Greenscapes , lavender flowers , -
thoughts of love and morning doves , bluejays sing praise to the sun above
Farm bells announce the dawn
The light of day , the hand of God -
caresses summer studded lawns
A tap on a hollow tree
Gardenia in the breeze
A shady respite
Fledglings call from silver-
maple nest
Crows toil in open fields
Black knights harvest , store -
and protect their yield ...

Silence!  
His body shall be still!
Shall none soul be his!
Yet, seeth! For him:
A man who maketh thee wonder.
Such carves!

Descent, unto the lands,
Surround o' paths, nor greenscapes.
Descent, unto the lands,
Surround, o honor!
Yet some shall jest about thee?
For them a pity!

Some shall crumble,
For thee, thee shall die o' honor!
So as to be lost,
The sun doth not want thee.
Yet shall us find thee:
Be told eyes' conqueror!
Or shall thee be our jest?

Some shall appraise thee,
What a shallness for our kindled eye!
It's carved, carved each by our hands!
"Our blood shall be thine!" Sacrifice!
"Our man shall be thine!" Sacrifice!
"Our treasure shall be thine!" Praise!
"Such intricate lines, o carver!" Praise!
For thee shall giveth not a jest! Praise!

Now wouldst thou wonder?
Skies do makest thou wonder.
Lands do makest thou adore.
Art thou carving o birds o' skies?
Or:
Art thou to lo and carve his' again?