Half a Life Adrift, Half a Life Mad

White robes as lovely as a painting, yet how can they rival your radiant youth?

Bloodstained reeds,

yet all I can say is that it was fate's design.

White robes as beautiful as flowers, yet how can they rival your dazzling art?

A longing that cuts to the bone,

yet all I can say is that the years were fleeting and false.

Bones.

White robes as ethereal as an immortal's, yet how can they rival the graceful sweep of your sleeves?

A foolish love, all for naught,

yet all I can say is that the years deceived me.