Perpetuate
The days when the orbit of love waxed great.
We are born, these red ones say, of passion,
Flush of the heart.
What though the sound of love's steps depart?
The seeds were sown, and we in this fashion
Immortalize
Remembrance thereof in the heart's own dyes.
We are born, say these snow-white blooms, of the spirit,
Children of death.