...and the waves sighed helpless As the shore devoured them The clouds which adorned the sky So dark but beatyful Every stone, every stem Is all part of a picture Together they weave on the beholder Who takes the nature in and comprehend it But this picture is different from humaneye to humaneye Though it will always be the same Bewitch me the perfume of a withered rose Which is actually dead but the perfume and the beauty are steady Though it changes please or shock the human mind A withered rose often in connection with grief The withering so we say it is the end But everything can fade away the love the pain... So we say that the withering is loosen from all spheres And its just a cover which hides the life in its being But in any form the being is constant Though it is often or eternal only the rememberance But the only true grief is not the withering It is that rememberances fall to pieces too...
withering, humaneye, withered, perfume, grief