The Perfect Isle

Then the winter night will knock on the door, And as one would step inside the cerulean lake; Vying with cold, have to discern the warmth of life, The fishes will gather as if drooping on the feet, The moon would come down to the floor of the heart, Ah! What a wonder, could scratch even an obdurate, There will be a river of desires; But there will be a boat of sacrifice, There will be a road to success, But there will be trees aside the road, Whose leaves are wet with tears; Tears for those who do not have a place to weep even, And there will be stairs to heaven, But there will be banisters to support, If one misses a step!