Walk deeply my dear, into our secret garden. Words wisp by as butterflies, color dancing before our eyes and wait. Long a journey past embraces the last of a finished cast, reborn the life burned down. Clutch clanking constants, awaiting for no one to end the race, this space we wander in ancient dreams, tender thoughts tasting serene. Far along the path, the liquid moves fast, and struggle to keep pace at last, for finish finds further scenes.