White Clouds (Finale)

From raging storms of kindred tears
to summers love in whispered ears
of strangers.
Their eyes will meet the scene is set,
these rival foes at dissidence
are unaware.
Fair rose I’m told lay not before
this house of thorn in ageing war,
it’s open.
Forlorn; foreseen as woken dream.
Becloud belief,
despondency of happiness.