Winds whisper in the meadow.
But I hear silence of my shadow.
Winds sing the tales unknown.
But I sit to write one of my own.
This world is too a little meadow.
People come like winds unknow.
What's unheard is our own sorrow.
Left alone, with tears to swallow.
Hear the voices that in silence echo.
Sit with yourself, and never be alone.
In this meadow let's make a home.
To store the memories of our own.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 3:05 AM UTC
Winds whisper in the meadow.
But I hear silence of my shadow.
Winds sing the tales unknown.
But I sit to write one of my own.
This world is too a little meadow.
People come like winds unknow.
What's unheard is our own sorrow.
Left alone, with tears to swallow.
Hear the voices that in silence echo.
Sit with yourself, and never be alone.
In this meadow let's make a home.
To store the memories of our own.
To find yourself in silence.
