On the waters edge of old Huron,
lays islands in the mist,
the horizon composed of opaque grey...

Tarnished oaks of spring
offer their ****** buds to rays of sunlight,
to unfurl life,
to sacrifice a selfless offering,
to blossom beauty,
metamorph into shade...

To wilt and wallow with the winds of autumn.
To solemnly parish with flakes of snow.
From birth to death may you serve a purpose...
grow with beauty,
and die with grace.
Be thankful for the day before us,
and the day we envietably fade...