The Mist drowns Herself
in shyness of Dawn's warmth.
The East promised much
but could She ignore little treats?
Hope.
One who keeps my Love
untouched by uncertainty
of dreadful Autumn.
Even days sketched on wood
can be so inspiring-
each strengthening my will
to love Him more,
to believe in my East.
Speak to me, O' Mist.
Do you wait for your
Dawn who brings yellow joy
from the East?
Do you know my East?
He hasn't returned since a year.
The war was his last promise.
I envy your love.
I envy your East!
in shyness of Dawn's warmth.
The East promised much
but could She ignore little treats?
Hope.
One who keeps my Love
untouched by uncertainty
of dreadful Autumn.
Even days sketched on wood
can be so inspiring-
each strengthening my will
to love Him more,
to believe in my East.
Speak to me, O' Mist.
Do you wait for your
Dawn who brings yellow joy
from the East?
Do you know my East?
He hasn't returned since a year.
The war was his last promise.
I envy your love.
I envy your East!
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