We trust so much to the capricious Time,
We call her wild whims the works of Fate.
We search through past to find a hint of rhyme,
We ascribe too much to the given date.
So oft time is as a tundra so bleak,
Merging the mindless thoughts and swarms of faces;
I’ve always searched too hard for what I seek,
By chance, I stumbled to a great oasis.
Our paths through time are destined cold and winding;
Time offers us no light to find our way.
Yet somehow I did find the perfect timing
The moment I first spoke to you that day.
Through all the chaos that may plague our paths,
I rejoice that our paths have crossed at last.