So, like a gentle breeze,
sadness has come,
to fill the empty space
and do its thing.
Time will just march along,
leaving behind,
that very special song,
so colourblind.
Yet some will never cease,
we'll soldier on,
of all those handsome trees
sine qua non.
Some day our heads will rest,
before the end,
wish we would find a nest
past the dead end.