Of beauty cast out in the mystic space,
of music with wings and whiter lace,
a ballad above the clouds in a lighter list,
rolling with the motion of the surrounding mist,
sweet music from the pipes of the cherubim,
higher up than where the whirly winds begin,
a song of effervescence and passion flowing,
and harmony keeping the song forever growing,
clusters of sound swirling with the winds of time,
and rhythms pushing the music into a sea of rhyme,
as beauty prides herself amidst the crimson clouds,
flaunting her colors so much as heaven allows,
and music climbs the sky to a nocturnal star,
and takes its sweetness up to a land so afar,
in satchels of perfume and exotic spice,
to a heaven called music and paradise,
and sits upon a throne in the glorious kingdom,
a landing of the song, a melodic venturesome,
a lullaby to the busy skies and swirling winds,
a breath of heaven in sound by violins,
a ballad to put to sleep the fury of the skies.