Let the bloody hues coat the green.
Bleed out the waking sky.
New morrow will set our scene,
and mood through their sharp cries.
And in the field, waking faces,
All in sorrow, walk by.
Tears hang in the misty traces.
Reflected by red sky.
We beg you, bring us calming peace
Grant us, dear sun, strong heat.
For our tears have been without cease.
Remove our burdened seat.
The sky echoes of frantic tweets,
Daily avian song.
Singing of every morning's treat,
Pleading others to sing along.
Instead, we sing a rhythmic weep.
Dismal showing of grief.
Our gift to nature, buried deep.
Though her stay was only brief.
Spoken softly to the sky above,
Words which resemble prayer,
When religion is based on love,
And thoughts are simply air:
“Mother, who hath made skies and land,
Be her eternal home,
Take her, grasp her delicate hand
Keep her from where fears roam.”
“Sun, the quick progression of you,
took my new wife away.”
Knowledgeable rays broke through,
To pass a message that day.
The sun, now possessing a shine
Stood at a golden high,
Though, in a state of metal decline
Gave care to glance close by.
“Do not let sorrow dim your eye.
Fears shan’t your course impede
Soon shall every single tear dry;
Have great strength, if great you do need.”
With guiding words he ventured forth;
Stumbled toward a wood.
And felt his veins connect to earth.
Unsure of why, but felt he should.
A butterfly here, graced his arm,
Splayed a spellbinding wing,
And sensing that he bid no harm,
Stayed, urged the man to sing.
The sky echoes of peaceful chimes,
Newly discovered song.
Singing of next morrow's bright times,
Helping others to sing along.
