A posing branch pointing sophistication
through a bark of whispered peace. A
pokcet of mute jingling daisys curling
melodicaly in the breth of gentle air.
And a shallow pool of clarity, shining like
broken crystal under the watchful glow of the sky.

This is where our loved ones go,
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; this is where they sleep.
Only to awaken as smiling robins on
lonely winter mornings to melt the
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;cover of cold