With days telling truths to utopia,
Neighboring nights of clear skies, stars were rife,
Just seen by those cursed with myopia.
For among the flowers, the black rose grows,
The sun infected before the twilight,
Cause the weary moon with doubt that arose,
Though, the meadow below keeps with the fight.
The outskirts of the field remain lambent,
As the rose consumes more, the light thrives yet,
New life thrusts right through, without circumvent,
In time it will consume the silhouette.
True light is born by breaking through the dark,
New plants will grow, trees will thicken their bark.
