Misty white flowers,
Caressed for hours,
By the gentle breeze.

Old places nearly gone,
Their songs have been sung,
Yet something still remains.

Smooth buttercups,
Cushioned in green,
A grassland so serene.

The sound of the trees,
As encouraged by the breeze,
Is enough to give me peace of mind.

These few years have been unkind,
Down this dark road I wind,
But there is yet hope ahead.

The calm in the lines of your face,
Drawing the right place,...