Enya

Drums capped in white,
Pure acoustics of wind and strings echo,
A symphony of celestial voices resonates,
Deserted taize of an archaic language,
Rhythm and beats tip-toed,
Thrown altogether absolute harmony.

In and out between lost worlds,
Of mind, heart and soul,
Molding feelings of this and that,
Beauty in melancholy and detachment,
Cajolery of no end nor depth,
Only a projection of the mysterious mind.