The Violet Sunrise

How can I forget what I once saw?
Under the cold whispers of a big tree,
not even did one crow dare to caw
on that clear night which sparkled with the sea.

So there is a time we must the land tired sow,
down the lights of what orchards bloom:
Blades of grass we cannot forget to mow:
known fruits of a bull thereat will consume.

As the sea raises what a mop has tossed;
what tears have to say when they part;
halls made of sand forget not their cost:
they shall give you the shadows of a mad heart.

After that may you reap all dusty trails,
the rain of the horizons and their tales.