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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

and it was so...

...and it was so...