Blood flows freely, an opened vein,
As dandelions play, and songbirds dance,
Sunny days do nothing to stem the flow,
Across fields of green, among cleansing streams
When there never was a chance,
Blood must flow, the sun must rise,
If ever again to open these eyes,
In fields of green, and cleansing streams
Stoic Poetry
Through The Cracked Window (Revisited) 