History keeps chasing me.
A face seemingly to proud
gliding a crest of a wave
appearing only in a shroud.
The future gave me seven thousand seas.
The past knew of many yet to come.
A trace without find
a moment to be blind.
The sun dissolved,
a vision to unfold
whose voice shall be chosen
to be heard on the horizon.
When will the final leaf in history drop
or will the sun shine another day,
earth to human lining a new crop.