Behold. The sounds of the whistling wind. The water above, Mimicking the silver dew drops. And down it pours. Touching the darkness, Empty yet hallowed ground. A village of cold stones, Flat beds of green grass. And the scattered, Rotted or dried. Petals of roses and chrysanthemum. The heavy and monotonous downpour-- Continues. Continues. Continues. Erasing marks of men, Of women, Of children. Whose tears flowed. Longing for the souls; Traveling beyond eternity.