upon the red roses of morning
and the fires of heaven
the first sun glows
while the fishes beneath it,
ascending from the summer breeze,
speak of days lost
and forever more the slow cold
falls as snow before their eyes
upon the shore the lilies bow down
as to sleep the days away
the black horizon looms and grows
the fishes sleep and water freeze
and trees that bend and knock
at the door of their tranquil rest
remembers no more the warmer days
when no man walked across the ice

burning like the fires of heaven
upon the red roses of morning,
now gone...