Tangerine horizon, still waters glass,
A rock ripples the waters, of memories past.
Out reaching ripples, of memories blurred mists,
Looking for the yesterdays, of a young woman’s bliss.
As the misty memories, of a blurred horizon reach,
In the ripples search, for something they may teach.
The horizon is now bronze, and the mist seems to fade,
The waters start to calm, from the ripples those memories made.
Vanished is the horizon, when ashen comes to pass,
This leaves us in the end, with the still waters glass.