Here, improbable butterflies dance,
and the ferns wave on Hayden’s chords. Here, everything is solid gold,
with paths crossed by diamonds,
where you can climb your nostalgia. Here, demarcations dissolve.
You are free to create your own rules.
All appearances find meaning. Here, the seasons unfold simultaneously,
depending on the sublime
or the despair you feel. Here is that fertile land
of creative solitude,
where magnificent corollas grow,
where philosophers reinvent itself
and the whole melos of the world.
