Clouds blossomed,

While their depression paints a gray-scale...

The thunder cries.

...

Intimidated...

As the strikes are like lightning...

When it hits me,

It tells me a story.

...

Where the stars were of blankets,

And the horses whistled another day.

So while the strings were attached,

Both the sun and moon went for a vacation.

A wind chariot ride...

They traversed through many worlds,

And sunk in mystery...

...

And that's why...

The clouds are so hot,

That air simply touched its boiling point...

The wind migrated a long time ago...

Brushing shadows that were to be...

A golden apple.