We are roses in hands,
in ropes of live,
magic in nature,
haunting the air
the songs of winds.
The word swings
in tips of the moon…
She,
in her golden cradle
above the sky;
sneaks out of the snow
dressing the night
with her verses.
Pilgrim,
companion of paths and its mystic,
where we invoke senses,
that open with the key
of alchemy
among magicians.