Within the mists of all untime,
enchantment reigns, a spell sublime;
weaving, from the source of life,
a tapestry of pure delight.

Hours powered by a cyclic spin.
Anciently, all life begins again,
within these skies of indigo and blue.
building like a cresting wave,
and melting into golden shores.

The tide is turning, evermore
searching for a happenstance
that might beget a living harmony.
Life is lived, the heart beats on;
the die outcast, the colors spun.

The seagull knows the worth of air,
and there, within the breath of all creation
it feeds the mighty splendor of just being.
Movement born, a perfect blend
of life within enlightenment...

? Michaelette ?