Time and again at break of morn
a coral tone will dawn adorn.
Magenta heralds night’s release,
a halt in sunlight’s golden fleece
to moon and stars in darkness sworn.
When from the living left forlorn
our earthly mortal days are torn,
is this a mere unsung caprice
time and again,
no threnody on heavens’ horn
with being of existence shorn?
Or could there be a cryptic crease
as part of cosmic masterpiece
where all that died would be reborn
time and again?