Lost like a fox in the woods...
Squealing while searching for food...
Running haphazardly through the hollow meadows...
With no path in sight...

Only dry cherries hang on the limbs like paper towels...
The tear won't forgive their misfortune...
...
And after the pusillanimous melody pushes the molded gravel...

Strings of molten marble with concave the heartless imprint...

When the cement settles on the insidious wounds...

A beginning will arise,
And the end will wither like whispers...

Echoing the abandoned.