The fringe of the orange slope, rose grass tea The honey of these eyes light

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The fringe of the orange slope, rose grass tea The honey of these eyes light, honey of a unique color The gold not yet quite green from the mountains, the silver of the train The Moon and the star, turquoise ring The atoms all dance, Early morning, shines mist Pomegranate-colored children enter the wagon The olive of the cloud lead becoming, behind the morning And the blue silk of the paper that wraps the apple The houses so green and pink that pass by as they see us pass On both sides of the window And that one in an almost non-existent shade of blue, blue that no

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