I spring to life some mournings,
only to feel a hint of a warning.
In the cool crispness of the air,
life and death are never fair.

With some passion in my pocket
and a sprinkle of time in a locket.
A suitcase of care, a bag full of fears,
home grown doubt watered by tears.

I spring to life on certain mournings,
only to feel a touch of the warning.
In the cool dampness of the air,
that death and life are never fair...