The Inherent bloods

How far will you go across the sky?

To break into the stardust of your tops.

Would the blood of your roots dry up ?

With a procrastinating reason!

Don't forget old memory ,

They are the blood of mirth and dearth.

The toil those hands have laid to anew ,

An ever -memorable period.

Bend your roots to consideration of your beliefs,

But don't break them as the half moon.

The traditions are your the stars of your sky.

The values experimented plated onto you.

Does the value of newism dethrone conscience?

Let not honey override flowers.

At the end of the World , you will be severed from glory and shame

Your remnants may smell religiously ,

Antidote to the spectre-grey of posterity.

Will the candle burn without fire?

Shall birches bend without ice-storms?

The respite of all sicknesses,

The Veda of nature, should never ebb away with the last man.

The luxurious fallacies of urban 

Reaching onto the meadows ,

Where even birds lose their way,

Forget man had ever been!