Sentiments of g (3)

Berwick in the bush, my senses walking

Await her hand in my own, follow

The trail the tripping flowers softly take

Nothing, nor force open the door to her,

A rose palace that arose in the bush – from

Whom blooms, beautiful flowers pour, lain,

In spring-rain scents on a step that leads

Out of berwick, that first step of Horizons