Dressed in Green

Hail, all the love that is a growling whisper, captured not by the sea nor the wind nor the frozen river.
In the sky, we stand, watching upon horizons that dance with the sunlight,
let us not believe that there will ever be night.
Beyond the grave of the waking dead, there will be a valley in which the rain does not pass;
Keep to the sky, and and do not glance back at the grasping flame,
make not a word that would tell of your existence,
Go with the wind into heavens,
and know not a single groan will wither thy spirit.