In the morning, a dew falls off pure and crystal clean,
In surge of finding true meanings, thoughts blow up bleen.
Streets are quiet finding its meaning in good,
No one knows where this dead end glues.
Neither you, nor me could seek it through
Just a morning dews could make it hue.
Hues of complexity in purity,
Never have imagine it is true.
Dust above high sky, trying to make the sky blurred,
My clear eyes always there even to see even through the fur.
