The morn of every night,
Mourns for the intercept of time.
These raptures of an unpredictable path,
They compose the archives of a joyous heart...
We are ultimately lead to the circle of love,
From the greetings above.
A splash of stars,
Lays somewhere between the horizon and hearth...
Where will you accept?
The graceful acceptance of a fragment of defeat for which they wept.
Auxiliary melancholy of time,
The ambidexterity of emotions leading us from a hollow to light...
Picture from the net- ( aviartnutkins.com )
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