The view woke to the breaking dawn
A sunrise through a roses thorn
A golden dew, a leaf turned brown
for what this day brings night pours down.
A fountain lake awash away
through river-bed through fields of hay
Upon a mountain, beneath a tree
my future stands in wait for me.
A looming figure clad in black
a temprement of quick attack
A sudden slip
A sudden snap
And at my window I am back.
The sunrise golden, a roses thorn
from my window I shall mourne
Breath like silver, heart like stone
distance seems to call me home.