Even the smallest of seedlings becomes a giant tree. |
Things are bleak, the world is weary
And all the days are dark and dreary...
In the cool of the night
And the glow of the moon...
Her pain was locked away inside
Emotional scars kept locked inside...
The days are painted with sullen colors
While in a field two dogs play...
Too true in perfect harmony they were.
Yet love's first glance did bring them both to...
The days are painted with sullen colors
While in a field two dogs play...
Life is but a stream of days
Flowing ever on its way...
If you ever read Othello, this should make sense.
A rogue has wormed a way into his mind...
"Passion posesses my seated heart.
It clamors againt my soul...
Never stopping is this endless stream of life, physical form yields new birth in the grass, while the soul lives on in torment or tranquility. |