Lingo To My Muse

Flashing towards another
the roses plucked, red, like
falling dawns, like I know
now it's a sin that you (don't)
didn't roar cause sometimes
I whisper and you come to me
and I know it's a sin of silence
plowed around trees with glass
wall say nothing I (you?) join
the parade and go merrily along
with hats of Easter now in summer's
rebirth, no summer's bloom...