A LANDSCAPE

The melted streams
From the high mountains,
And its magnetic views!
Calling for epic pleasure
Erasing all pine
As for the implicit promise!
That warmth of the flows
For adoring its beauty
And that very nature!
Demanding the lyric of music!
With halting scripts
Finding the channels of glare!

The Black Glass

That support to view
The script with light
With a mere sight!
But it seems vanishing
Over a scattered space!
Yet the tears in till,
blowing with fill!
Not that glass to hide
Nor can let it fall
Without one that value!
Where that so lost
Although with sound care
As that only sight support!