As the rose closes.

As the rose closes its velvety petols
and the dreamers set off on their nightly patrols,
The owl spreads its wings wider.
What of such beautiful things to behold?
A gentle mind alone could find the words,
the words to justly describe,
a humble world so vulnerable with volcanoes deep inside.
The depths of souls could not resist to sing in subtle jest for dreamers have no clue what dangers befall them on their quest.
And such unknowns of mystery and vastness in the grey, what of them in this season dry as May.
And what of such courage in each kindling light.
Courage so to see us through this restful night.