The sun has left my south country hills
Now they are lashed by wind and cold rain
The birds that fly south for the winter
They have left my hills, they have gone
The once rich fields have been stripped of their crops
They now lie there wet, muddy and brown
No more bright flowers for butterflies and bees
No more the sound of birds summer songs
I miss the warmth of the sun on my face
I miss the bright summer moons
Its the change of the seasons in my south country hills
All to soon the winter will come
A time to sit down by a warm log fire
Think of the better times to come
A time to think, a time to write
A time to gather ones thoughts
To dream of the sun once more on my south country hills
To dream of spring and the new life it brings
The cold rains of winter will soon fade and pass
And once more we will greet a new year
Once more I will wander the pinewoods
And enjoy my south country hills

Crying does not mean you are weak;
it means you have remained so strong
for far too long.

It means you have sacrificed your life
to ensure others live their's,
and it means you have put yourself forward
to protect their Earth rather than conserve your world.

It means you have kept your promised silence
that hush a friend dared to ask,
and it means you welcomed the weight
when your shoulders were soaked with drenching salt.

It means you have been sympathetic,
firmly standing your ground to defend friends,
and it means you forced yourself into exile
when your effect seemed more demonic than caring.

It means you threw your entertainment aside
to keep a little brother company as he chases fireflies,
and it means you disregarded candle wishes
as an older sister licked frosting numbering a younger year.

It means you chose to be the person everyone wanted to have
but no one wanted to be.