The stones once cold are touched by fire,
Awake within your heart’s desire.
Their cracks dissolve, their age undone,
Beneath the light of what you’ve spun.

The roses hush, the winds grow still,
They bend before your tender will.
Each petal falls, each fragrance flows,
To guard the grace your soul bestows.

The ivy curls, the dusk delays,
It crowns your form with silver haze.
The world forgets its weight, its call,
And bows before your glow withal.