Over the bluff of cinnamon scented steppe
A translucent semblance of a cavorting Potentate
The image seems unclear but the presence
And jiving with the euphony can be feel.

The leaves are swinging in the melody
As if the midday breeze is blowing the Latin Pop
That makes the whole nature swirl
Showing the allure of pure autonomy.

The impromptu spout of tears from Angels above
Stopped the party below as every vertebrates
Find their own shelter to mantle their selves
The scorch is on but covered by dome of blues.