Mostly, I gaze upon the fields and see dead grass and falling trees
With branches reaching toward the sky in a sort of outward plea
Begging not to be condemned this day
Yet winter comes anyway
And the world becomes gray

For the most part, my world is gray
My vision full of its hues where dormant nature lay
Dark and dim and cold to the touch
Like stone statues crumbling down, collecting dust

And for a time, I think to myself
That spring will never arrive
That the warming sun will never shine
And color will never thrive

For a time I believe
All I have is all I see
Dusky days stuck by thorns
Eternal gray, eternal scorn

But, alas, the buttercups appear
Never distant, always near
Creating pink painted prairies
And vibrant stippled hills buzzing with little fairies
In a manner much like Van Gogh
Streaks of holding hands and blushing cheeks' glow

And I think to myself
If we have nothing else
How powerful a symbol Mother Nature truly is
Whispering a message I cannot miss
That after such tragedy
Life can take root again
Vibrant, like a melody