...and the waves sighed helpless

as the shore devoured them

the clouds which adorned the sky



so dark but beatyful

every stone, every stem

is all part of a picture

together they weave on the beholder



who takes the nature in and comprehend it

but this picture is different from human-eye to human-eye

though it will always be the same



bewitch me the perfume of a withered rose

which is actually dead but the perfume (and the beauty) are steady

though it changes please or shock the human mind

a withered rose often in connection with grief



the withering so we say it is the end

but everything can fade away the love the pain...



so we say that the withering is loosen from all spheres

and it's just a cover which hides the life in it's being



but in any form the being is constant

though it is often or eternal only the rememberance

but the only true grief is not the withering

it is that rememberances fall to pieces too...