I look at snow-gold
and think I want
to break up in the
leaves. Apollo's anchor takes,
amber pallor rolls us
rays in the quiet time.
Trees make crystal etches
stamped in ink of horizon.
I look at snowgold
and think I want
to break up in those
leaves. Apollo's anchor takes,
amber pallor rolls us
light in the quiet time.
Trees make crystal etches
stamped in ink of horizon.
I look at snowgold
and think I want
to break up in those
leaves. Sun's anchor takes,
amber pallor rolls us
lights in the quiet time.
Trees make crystal etches
stamped in ink of horizon.
I look at snowgold
and think I want
to break up in those
leaves. Sun's anchor takes,
amber pallor rolls us
lightly in the quiet time.
Trees make crystal etches
stamped in ink of horizon.
I look at snowgold
and think I want
to break down into those
leaves. Sun's anchor takes
and amber pallor rolls us
lightly in the quiet time.
Trees make crystal etches
stamped in the ink of horizon.
and think I want
to dissolve into those
leaves. Sun's anchor takes
and amber pallor rolls us
lightly in the quiet time.
Trees make crystal etches
stamped in the ink of horizon.
