Through pensive eyes gazing at the gaping horizon which sings, I permit the sovereignty of nostalgia to saturate. Contemplatively, I stroll a garden in which roses smile all around me, dripping their wet jewelry gifted by the morning. At the top of a mountain resides a remote monastery sat upon by the narcissistic Sun, depicting an ideal. A fountain chatters its soft poetry … Yea, those pure streams gossip. Memories of childhood, and many other dear things lost, mingle with a singular air tinged by the colors of a rainbow. Tears of rain run down the faces of besetting windows. Regret and longing frolic hand in hand through a happy meadow. A tender glow clothes the cold grass. An angelic choir showers the needy earth. This piece renders the tone of the sky’s awakening, and the music of the dawn’s blooming. It is a composition of the heavens. Pink, pillowed clouds sail the great blue … You must find them, for they may never find you.