Frozen dialects in my mind,
sketching the last traces of my kind,
Just a help for you, the blind,
hoping for a most revealing find.

Chasing the relics of tomorrow,
dreaming of you my child,
I drain myself of sorrow,
tame me now, for I'm still wild.

You are my perfect rhyme,
For you've never tasted time,
nor committed any crime.
Oh my!, such innocence, most sublime.

I now admit my gruesome sin,
that of contaminating you,
the rose inside that grew,
with myself, within.