Beauty won't be wasted on another, He has ruined all the joys that were. My sorrow does not keep the voices still, Nor keep from blooming every leaf I see. My sorrow does little, or ever will, But keep the winter deep inside of me. My sorrow does not hush the windy boughs, Nor keep the nests deserted in the tree. By saying so, resounds with clarity.
Winter has no place when it is spring.
And spring is time for life and being free. So count me blessed. He left Earth young At God's request. Though I was ten, Was for the best. But I knew my dad, So count be blessed.