There is nothing left for me here but barren waste land.
What once was green and fruitful is now empty save for the wail of the winds
Howling their longing for the joys they shall know no more.
Gone are the days of bright rivers cascading along their way,
Of birds chirping merrily in the trees,
Of pure happiness bubbling like a fountain from within.
All that remains is the dust of my ashes, blowing in the wind.