Feed live colours to the sea, pure child,
Carry white laughter in your hair,
Wild violets within your feet,
Rum stains in your eyes,
Gleaming, In the half light,
Of this misty, orange morning.
Run and slide to see,
The silver mind, the remedy,
Wreathed in greenish notions,
Loud, shaded, striped-potions,
And light air sequences,
Losing sight in your blue mind,
Rising tides, rising tides,
Of some misty mornings' paper sides.
That last journey is not end,
Those era songs yet not sung,
Though all mercy is forgiven,
And those words forever given,
Rising tides, rising it rides,
Into all the wishing sides.
