Where the tulips peak their heads,

The wind surfaces in washed ears,

And the grass whistles through them.

...

Soft as a newborn's fingers,

The touch will leave your eyes cuddled.

As everybody swarms around the garden,

The wind will dance with many hearts.

...

The ground may be hardened,

But its molded for life to grow through.

We must push to the golden hallways that await us.

So while our tears caress,

Our spirits will bless.