“The pale sun is still the Sun.

The dark moon still scatters it’s charm.

Life can never be hard, it is made to be,

my sweet little innocent child, my balm!

I love thee as though you were my own,

my flesh, my blood, my rugged toes.

The roubles still stand loosely, they topple,

dwindling down, but then they rise.

They rise beneath your feet,

as you fail, fail to beat,

the pulsating devices of the society’s trauma,

Still living, breathing, gazing at the warm aroma.

People fail not because they cannot do,

People fail since they look at others for more.

They desire to receive a pat, hungry for a score,

thirsty for more, the very nature of the lore.

But, you o’child must know,

You cannot fail if you grow

up as the roubles beneath your feet form rows.

Jump up, catch the plank, rise up and vow.

Vow to live, vow to bow, vow to be a crow,

hated by those whose inners are not so true,

Fly off and never come back to The grimes

like nets on the road, they catch all the rhythms and rhymes.”

Sleep off girl. Your boys have long left the plane. You and I must sleep to rise another day.