...and the waves sighed helpless
 as the shore devoured them
 the clouds which adorned the sky

 so dark but beatyful
 every stone, every stem
 is all part of a picture
 together they weave on the beholder

 who takes the nature in [bad word] it
 but this picture is different from human-eye to human-eye
 though it will always be the same

 bewitch me the perfume of a withered rose
 which is actually dead but the perfume (and the beauty) are steady
 though it changes please or shock the human mind
 a withered rose often in connection with grief

 the withering so we say it is the end
 but everything can fade away the love the pain...

 so we say that the withering is loosen from all spheres
 and it's just a cover which hides the life in it's being

 but in any form the being is constant
 though it is often or eternal only the rememberance
 but the only [bad word] grief is not the withering
 it is that rememberances fall to pieces too...