There's more to me than you can see, 

There's more to me than I ever show,

I am warmer than the blood through veins 

And faint as prints of wind on snow.

Walk with me in lasting blues 

Of forever myth and autumn dews

Glide in through the hollow stride

Of whatever was claimed as my recluse.

Though you stay in deeper down there,

Though you dig out parts of the layer, 

Though you ride through benign storms, 

There's more to me than I can share.

A dip in the palette of colors overflowing and swirling them crazy, all that shows of it is the excess two drops on the carpet. Those two drops aren't me, I'm mixing in parts in the rainbow you didn't notice. Smell from the old hay stack and untimely rain, mushroom abundant around, and I made a sheath of moss, on the shining and rising and possessing of all.