Everyday is beautiful;
everything will change.
Every moment has its magic,
can it be sustained?

Streams are born in mountains,
fountains born in form,
delirious deciduousness,
forever is forlorn.

Parameters are built,
experience is mad,
hopefulness is predicated
on never having had.

Meadows have many colors
the sky can just reflect
buildings try to touch its threshold
but never can connect.

How low on the horizon
can you see the sky?
What clouds and concepts intercede
discouraging your try?

As far, as far, in front of you
let your eyes roam free.
your dreams are sleeping just beyond
what the eye can see.