Thistles and Nettles tangled into mothers tulips
she asks for politely

Bricks of the sea, housing the heap,
reminding me of the color that dances before she dies

Cry, cry... My darling Laila 

orchestrate the truest of tones 

which you define in the day, and shun in the night 

Shine, my Laila... look inside 

for there will lie what is always bare

Lovely Laila, let your arms down

          or forever flood in fields of flowers

-C.C.