The soil weights heavy, yet less than the air.
While bare branches sway in wind, without care.
Skies, grass seem so sullen all of sudden.
All changing through the seasons unend.
Adieu burns so much more, when days passed well.
Even though snakes slithered, below the shell.
World couldn\'t fit, needed amount of words.
Not prettiest sentence, that great virtue holds.
In the end, when all around does wither.
On the bare land remains not one figure.
There grows a niveous rose, many sought.
Then it may rest in hands of your beloved.
A weeping willow near grave will arise.
Shielding some, troubled by heaven\'s malaise.
Sharp stone will fall off, to end the abuse.
In seconds with slit throat, at last cut loose.
All will last past the grave, past shed tears.
There will be more of them, throughout the years.
Yet things will last, in quaintness of it all.
Help others to soar, before foregone fall.