The marvel of the freedom: In patches

The vault opens itself at dawn.
The calyx of an Arctic alpine forget-me-not reopens
for an enchanting glory of the sunshiny dreams,
because of the eternally august poem,
that reads lenient and benignant.

Throughout the day:
there is up there a paradisiacal flight
of all halcyon seraphim,
singing through the stoicism, eudemonia
of many celestial dreamers.

Under the sun: a rhythm in wings of butterflies.
After evenfall: the paradise closes itself.
The springtide has gone to bed in aestival splendor.

In addition overnight a balmy sempiternity sleeps as well.
Here below a sensitive firefly flies,
above so ravishing earth.
In danger owing to the raveners of the night.
Indeed spared thanks to the sheen of Luther’s star.
The earth becomes a dazzling hereafter.
It remains not far from June sparks, the little fire.