Butterflies float to
near and far
Birds come and go to sing a song
Soon spring and the sun will both rise
to their reign to see winter die.
Our golden star shines
From the hot scorches, our hair cries.
Soon it's dark as it becomes dusk
The sky starts to wail as time flies.
The heavens soon
Then moans, as water start to teem
Finally the process resigns
The mist yields, for the ring of shine.