The butterfly of sadness a tale does it weep, stories of yesterday where disappointments breathe. I felt the magic and I let it go or was that you just didn't know, the beauty summer
old has turned to a winter cold.

I am neither here not there,
as I am but a object of my
surroundings, grasping to
see above the trees.

He who plays the card a fool,
will soon see those cards unfold.

If I run, will you run with me? If I hide will you be there to hide behind the clouds and if the song dies will you play the music?

It is the soil of the earth that accepts you as you are and allows for the continued growth, for the world around it as empty as the forest without trees.Cry not for those

who cannot see, for a wound heals at the sight oozes beneath the skin. I am but the

breath of a day as it unite with the dark of eve.