don’t you hate how we always seem to lose
the chance to pick and the chance to choose
planted flowers in a flower bed
grown to fall and be left for the dead
during the day the sun will work above
shining His rays on all that is done
and shun away the whispering wind
who brings sad thoughts of the summer’s end
then by night the demons shadow’s wander
through the thick rain and the tireless thunder
to collect the souls who never heeded
a life of misery was not needed
when the morning brings birds singing songs
a little girl might happen along
and pluck a flower who’s open petals dream
of a happy moment that it can bring