Of red petals and those of white
Some are stained and some are bright.
The girl walks down the lonely path,
To speak to those of winter's past.
With no face
Nor any haste
She leaves a trail for those to trace.
Of red petals and those of white
Some are stained and some are bright.
The girl walks down the lonely path,
To speak to those of winter's past.
With no face
Nor any haste
She leaves a trail for those to trace.