In the break of dawn, the misty smell of morning dew was in the air. A peach sunrise, and cascading mountains opened the day beautifully. Each leaf on the trees had let fall a shed of tears on the flowers below. The morning doves, finches, and robins all singing a duet of the benevolent maidens in white.
With not a cloud in the sky, or a pedal falling off the loveliest rose on the bush, a crow dances upon a grave of a sinner.
The reaper stands at the roots to a lost tree near the farmers house, with his scythe of death in hand.
Alongside the lifeless tree and the mans grave, stood crosses for the rest of his family, and his cottage and farm of ancient history. All the crops and livestock fallen. All the tools rusted. There was no life left in this field of gray.
Where once stood a fair kingdom of a man and his descent, now lives on as a pile of rubble.
"There is no escaping your fate in this world," says the cloaked skeleton, "We are all here to be shown a life of beauty, only to be spit back out...
"There is only one thing that everyone is promised, and it is the dry taste of pushed daises from the deceased."
A blackbird and sparrow whistle a tale of woe as the moon rises, and the sun sets ending another day of life.
(working on pt 2)
