Cold in this soil,
 and longing for your embrace.
 Growing old,
 as time takes whats left in state.
 then
 the trees
 are brown
 and we all sleep..

 Heart filled with love,
 despairing, descending day.
 will they take
 both hands will wrest away.
 flesh,
 and bone,
 and time
 will free us.

 Exploding with leaves,
 the wind is the painters [bad word] 
 Finding lines,
 and filling the heart with love.
 down,
 the [bad word] 
 the roots,
 will feed.