All in green went my love of riding on a great horse of gold into the silver dawn.
Who knows if the moon's / a balloon, coming out of a keen city / in the sky - filled with pretty people?
may my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living
Knowledge is a polite word for dead but not buried imagination.
The artist is not a man who describes, but a man who feels.
All in green went my love riding