His Grave
Never can you posess something as fragile as the morning mist
Hanging on the grass for moments only
Only breaths of it's touch remain
Invisible sounds and the tears on the earth it kissed
Does it remember it was there when it's gone?
Or is the only memory the one in the eyes that still see?
See the world that's now without it?
Why even in the lands of eternal summer always comes a winter?
Grass is bowing while a cold stone is sighing the tale of you
A tale that's been written without my name
