Summerfield, I shall come.

INTO THE SUMMERFIELD
Had not I given the soft and sweet voice over you,
We would not have be like this,
For it has changed the sweetness of our times,
Into a spider web full of flies of misunderstandings.
You are destined to be flooded with sea of roses,
And the white-horsed prince shall come to his knees at your feet,
But I am no him.
I was born to be a secret lover,
A lonely poet,
Behind the tree full of carving of the past.

-Adi Dassler, February's Ending