The line of worries seized my soul.
Will the flowers grow,
Will the river run wild again,
in the deepest of my deeps?
Will I find the gold,
as autumn takes its turn,
for nothing of my soul can feel
even the slightest emotion?
Will I flutter in joy again,
as the leaves do when this earth turns to spring?
For all else seemed so blur, and nothing but a blur,
Until the fires finally burnt within.
In a stupor, thus I remained.
Then I carried those last memories,
took myself to the solitary woods,
and sang my lingering melancholy.
In an utter joy, my body trembled,
for I felt my emotions high.
What seemed so lifeless for all those years,
then came to life, as my lips sang.
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