The air is frosted, crisp with dying death
As spring’s emergence breathes a plaintive sigh
But still I feel the ocean’s heavy breath
As if in dream, as if I soon may die.

Above the sea, atop this winding tower,
A storm of thoughts assails my restless head:
Perhaps life’s greatest gifts, life’s sacred power
Will lead to darkness, death, or mortal dread.

These grey and ghostly clouds refuse to go,
These harsh and hateful winds refuse to cease,
Yet comfort lies in what I do not know:
These enigmatic seas allow me peace.

Like secret seas, life’s mysteries enthrall,
Like love: the greatest myst’ry of them all.