The soft light breaks - a sphere half-traced
It radiates new color to the ground it had once drew
Green, gold, and brown all falling down
Come, hear the sound of ancient fanning on the forming ground
We go too slow
Arising stem, like clockwork, bend
Unto the mighty molding forces of Time, an old friend
Now growing old, their life stole
By meekling man, who sold his soul to dig a shallow hole
We go too slow