The clouds find a way to wander
And the shadows follow like dancing souls;
The broken amber yields to the wind
And the sparks lighten the blue yonder.

Oh My poor heart why'd you blemish
And let the tears dampen My eyes ?
The gale is yet to come,
And cause the moor to vanquish.

The tempest follows soon, like a shrieking raven,
And the field of existence is razed to ground;
Leaving the bleak feelings concealed
And sanguine stolidity combating the Heathen

"Yet to come is the only phase," says My heart,
As the tears would coalesce with the raindrops
Only to make others believe that clouds cry;
But the broken soul tries to face and fix the wreck,
Leaving it self uncured further apart.