Am I really here, or even real?
Are the people around me just glittering spiels?

Bending and yawning as an aching willow
Opening and weeping on splayed soft pillows

Fluffy and delicate, once never to shed
By and by warm an unkept withered bed

Vowed never to have been slept in
But a lowly spirit swelled within

What once was lost, could never be found
The root sprouted from trodden ground

A dwindling, pebbled little path
Swept away in a minute flash

Gone goes the summer and the sparrow groans
Never again is that reverence to be known
Perhaps a love misplayed might cease to be shown