Rake up beauty.

Bag it.

Burn it.

Don’t overturn it.

You’ll have to earn this.

Curving and swerving

Merging and changing.

Shining down at set.

Dimming up the dawn.

I’ll be thriving through what’s shown.

Striving in fates already grown.

Living in your moans, leaving as gold.

These will not be died.

Soon be dead, but not to fade.

Nothing’s given, only made.