The days are supposed to be filled with sun and the might of the wandering wind
It now lies dormant in thought with silent words praying for radiance
A generation fears a loss of life like that of the living kind
Whilst it caters to the surrounding feelings of obeisance
Tickled by the wild mentioning of more fearless nights
The creatures struggle for what they need to find
In order to make the world echo with lights
As it escapes into the viewer’s mind
Sitting by a trunk that was meant to be the home for a resting squirrel
And sliding down the hill that houses the mice under those flakes
One can visualize, if one does not choose to make a deferral
That someday this storm will become our great lakes
We will lose this knowledge in a tremendous flood
The words will be lost in a sea of doggerel
We will seek to sacrifice and shed blood
In order to pass on this referral
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