I choose to fall
through misty...

I can still hear them,
I can still feel their ice cold touch...

Don't ever be afraid
to come to me and cry...

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty"
--John Keats "Ode to a Nightingale&quot...

They were scattering
Dark, cold roses...

Silent joy whispers
through the morning...

This misery is so routine
It is so ordinary...

Babbling brook
Clear as can be...

Flower petals touch the ground
Silently falling without a sound...

I thought today of long ago
when childhood seemed so near...

The morning sun thrust
his flaming arms...

The silvery moon
so silent and bright...