By the silvery moonlight there is a breath of stale air being consumed
Shadows grow and cross each other in a dance of never-ending woes
Bare the Willow's Weep that stands chilled by a wind that wraps a hello
Harsh sharp tiny grains of quarry stones speak not of the sands of time
In a foggy wake of earthy morn raise a flag half mast for a mother cries
She witnessed flashes high and low, to and fro a firefly's signature sow
Weep not for the season's gather no moss for the loss of a timely flight
March Tempest, another's eyes that see God to a twenty one gun salute
Night winds ripple and weave a coat of dark despair with a needles eye
Weary shadows mark the stage for actors such as we lost into the woods
Clouds dance to a haunting reframe across a moon now turned blood red
Moving fast, such is life like the leaves dropping to a widow's command
Wind freakiest and hateful blows through the soul in living colors, not so!
The moon, though he may smile; cast reflections only to be mirrored cold
Our sunsets seem to be laden in the past just circling in yesteryear's cradle
Life in all its wisdom cannot keep us from taking our very last breath due
The thought that drifts endlessly across life's silvery moon lacks respect
The night darkens and the wind blows with a tightening grip that chokes
Sadden for to see the Willow's Weep in her wake to cracking limbs severed
Death blows the ashes of young men and women to infinity is thy name.
