Passing through the Midas never resides to allure,
Falling down is like the shower which has to be pure.
Brain, thinking and sieving to touch the need,
Paying the blood for the thought I creed.
Running through the bark for the dream,
Lying with the pearl for the eclectic sheen.
Beacon craving the veil of ordeal,
Admiring the bow, as it aficionado the range of feel.