Mourn the Innocent Spring
In pain, she cries out,
Begging to be heard;
Over solemn melodies sung so loud,
Lullabies to the dead.
Her defiant voice, only a whisper,
Dancing with the murmur of the breeze;
The rustle of the crimson leaves,
Blending, slurring, erasing her words.
She lies on her back,
Watching the clouds block the sun;
No words can explain,
The sadness the gathering white forms carry.
She reaches out, praying, pleading to the individual mists,
Hoping she can shape them in her grasp;
Into silken pillows, delicate like a spider’s web,
For her to lay her head on one more time.
And as she rests on the soft, green grass,
Slowly dying, withering beneath her;
She drifts off into a long, dwelling slumber,
Taking all the warmth with her.