The morning wakes to prayers

The rising sun, the passing moon

And everything is more beautiful

Even the grass are waving 

Hello

The dew having washed away the days previous’ strife

Remember how we almost didn’t make it, they say

Remember our exile

Our blooms turned to dried thorns 

And we almost became too harsh for this world

One turns to tumble with withered roots 

For talk of perspective and state marriage 

The day turns, granting redemption

The modern signs of the god we killed