It is the far off hope to a world
which hopes within evil dreams.
It casts a jealous tale of wonder
to a world of dead eyes and glances.
 
It is a leaf somehow fresh in Autumn
that recalls a world once renewed.
It is that glorious promised place
for those a world shed unwanted.
 
It is a fire shown on a gray cocoon
we weave with each sadder day,
that remains, as snowbright grace,
as our world turns older and cold.