With the wind to find the flow
a withering man searches in snow.
for a stone with no meaning, with no heart
with no value, with nothing but dirt.
he searches so endlesses and carelessly
drowning in blood from the cold, withering,
he finds but a pebble and it seems blue
quickly turning red in his palms torn and bruised.
he brushes it off and holds it twords the sky
as though examine a diamond, or a die.
he smiles and slowly lowers it back down
for this stone is precious even though just found.
its his lovers favorite rock. right their in the snow
the spot she laid dying a death too slow.
he forever remembers her as the one he let go..
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Don't ever asume anything until you know, that lifes course is never set into stone.
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