But whenever a shooting star
Crossed the midnight sky,
I found myself running barefoot
Towards a piece of soil,
No matter where I be,
And hoped for my naked wishes
Come true...

I witnessed the burial of many a grand love
Into the greenest ages of adolescence
So mercilessly...

And I woke up to lonely mornings
In all the wrong places,
With dried rheum of blood
Fallen from my heart,
Shed by my eyes...

With the first deep trace
Of the times that passed me by
And the lines of mortal charms
On my palms,
I hushed for you
One faded AfterMoon

Yearning to remain in your embrace forever at last.

Soon...

Yours was, Yours is, Yours will be
Adora

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Artificium, in the year 416 AD.