New Day is Never Too Old

The new day is new and never too old,
A sky ascending to the grace of white;
All colors true awaken to unfold,
From a winters wore and the dullest light.

Root so bundled into murky tide,
With rivers spanning no rainbows gold scale;
Far from the ocean of life and fireside,
And the root of tree breath lies there stale.

Dimpsy spindle spire pointing to heaven,
With bodies of dark from inside black fire;
Curse of bleak earth and while of the seven,
Where lust strikes with thorns and rose of desire.

Descending of days that come to the shore,
A flight between time and contrast in war.