Calm wind
That breathes life into these
winter dead trees
And frees that life within

Those early pink flowers
Soothing to the eye
Are born early and early they die
True beauty lies in a short
but colorful life
And we lie, and see where those
lies brought us as here in misery we lie
By the creator we swear
But it is hard to wear a crown of thorns
Torn apart is our soul, weak, with
a gaping hole from deceitful mold
That mould our hope to be full of despair
And all those friends we lost to
that permanent winter
Might just be now small
splinters to the soul
Untold will be some of their tales,
as time scales away
But I know where they are now or
I hope they are there
Waiting to enter one of seven gardens
And some of them might grant
others some pardons