Whispering, through labored breaths to lonely tree
I painfully pour out the last of my heart.
While the dying breaths of the wind-rustled leaves
whimper back laments of their death. Do we have to part?

Tears, down a pallid portrait, lethargically seep.
Each one as impermanent as the piece that they paint.
In a ragged voice, I cry out for what I know I can't keep.
For what I know will break me beneath it's weight.

The river's run becomes stronger than my weakened breath,
who do you expect to comfort here, naive stream?
You sing with the crows and you'll sing past my death
but it seems very well, that you'll also sing with me.

There is a fading set of footsteps in the snow ahead.
One's path dying with each snowflake. I step aside instead.