Drops of garnet on velvety petals. A rose glowing dark at night. Guarding those who dream. In black soil. In black silence. In eternity.

Foggy shreds crawl through dark clammy streets. No sunbeam left to pierce the November grey. Retreat, for time has stopped until Spring.

Waxen withering roses. Ivy claws clinging to clammy ruins. Candles flameless now, leaving no spark of life. A tomb clad in a veil of rain.

Wind and waves. Wandering clouds. A quiet lighthouse. A steaming teapot. White sails and a blue horizon. A heart longing for distant shores.

Colourless, powerless, lifeless we appeared to them. Cloyingly gray, sickly and weak. Palefaces they called us...