The Flowers of the Forest
The floo'ers o' a timberland have been a' wede awayHow most times have you ready to go in a morning, in suffering as good as woe, as good as left to contend goodbye?
Some places we have lived, you ready to go in white, as good as stumbled, weeping in a streets. In alternative places, you wore black suits, as good as dark glasses to hide a issuing tears.
Goodbye to a black as good as white soldiers of hold up -- even they never fought a battle as a splendid soldiers do, still they lived a mystery fight of because have been you here as good as where shall you go.
As you wander about, you mostly meet people who say, "Oh! You know, I've never been to a single wake in my life! I've no make use of for them!"
Makes you laugh, doesn't it? Seems a faith they will attend during least one.
At a little farewells you walked with a brass band; during others, rifles sang three times seven pointy songs, as good as a man handed over a folded flag. In a little alternative places still, there were those who booked malicious account of a grieving time, watching any alternative with suspicion, taking photographs of a limousines. Unless you've ever had to wear a pistol to a funeral, we disbelief so severely which you will even guess during what we say.
But, regardless of a passing guile, these were organized as good as beholden sorrows, as good as in a constant conditions which impersonate a realm, these were rare luxury. For most of what lives on this blue planet, genocide is sudden, anonymous, as good as unremarked. Nothing remains to concentration grief, if there were, in fact, to be any grieving during all.
Long since a Bodhisattva's heart shattered into a trillion pieces, any with a helping gesticulate as good as a loving prayer, in a time it takes to contend which request how most flowers of a timberland have been withered away?
Even as a hair ! turns wh ite, as good as a skeleton begin to ache, you cannot contend but pride which genocide comes as a delayed splendor of autumn comes. Even you lay cheerless with a sure cancer, with systematic dimensions right away a remaining accuracy of your life, no a single who has not non-stop a Bodhisattva's eye can predict a expect moment when your hold up will end.
In a sea of not knowing, you think of genocide in conditions of what will be no more.
That as good as only which is a good of pique -- a spring of suffering for a girl as good as blow splendor which will be no more.
The shaking as good as sobbing for dearly desired appearances which will be no more.
The cries of agonise for a speech, song, as good as delight which will be no more.
The undone beating for unfulfilled plans, schemes, as good as strategies which will be no more.
In a summer twilight, in a old days, young kids would take a mason jar as good as chase fireflies in a hills as good as fields. we would listen to them chattering down a river, squealing as good as chirping with delight as good as glee, similar to a sounds of bizarre sparrows wheeling along a bank. Through a trees, we would see them holding up a winking jars, comparing their catches, until tired of their folly they set a jars in a long grass as good as ran behind to a house.
It is afterwards which we would come, cautiously, to open a deserted captured, as good as set them free.
Whether this movement comprised ransom or merely an additional form of wake is a eminence of taste by mind as good as no other.
I wish to ask you....
For what do you stoop as good as collect when a blossoms have been no more?
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