The wind sighs, through silent trees,
grasses rustling sway upon the breeze,
and you are left cold,
as earths eternal sunset flickers,
fades,
and dies,
and you ask youself why?
why?
does evening fall to quick,
and steal the light of day...
why?
do blossems bright in the sun,
full of springs new hope curl and die...
why?
do the leafy fingers of fire lance from the sky,
swirling, scuttling on cold concrete, yet never rising high...
why?
is the fresh green grass curled,
and crisped by frost cold, icy touch...
why?
does the soft feathed down, of timeless clocks,
fall not float upon dead air...
why?
....for the fire bird has flown to the sun,
and springs-winter wheel, turns forever as one,
yet you are left standing here,
still,
amidst the flood of time....
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