I bless the rain delay, as I bequeath my yesterday.
Rain ends, hope fades. We gather at the runway.
I have nothing to declare, so empty-handed.
I was declaring myself as a martyr, when she said:
"Embrace me, my beloveth, once again, before thou depart.
Bequeath to me thy moonlight.
I shalt devote to thee my hindmost cry.
Thy bequest changeth seasons, Rain Falleth, hope is gone.
Thy leaving is no sojourn. Lachrymose in widow's weeds,
Grievous, I am burying my dreams of thee."