Weeds that grow, wind to and fro
We cannot let them go,
I can not let them go.

Abrasively dismayed
By the ones, with whom she played.

Winding up a glaze,
To cover eyes at which you gaze.

Melting forests, tied with old
Thoughts and feelings, poured the mold,
Upon which hardships now behold.

Carry on your storm,
For it is why the sky was born.