as the brook gently utters thine heart yearns for light deep within the season of incipient decline
as dawn erupts, i long to wake unforgettable echoes of the lyre sift no solace found, but within my own; tranquil streams litter the valleys
i procede through the forests everflowing willows speak endlessly with dated words, words of melancholy.
and so ahead, a precipice of majestic stance we weep as one creating the fall atop. as evening falls i remember my aura. and far across the way the souls of lost embraced as one they prayed for me at once night left, for the sun hath looked down on me