Though we try, we still deny, that all seem born to face their scorn.
Life's full of Rain, enshrouding Pain.
The sun may greet us but can it meet us? It simply passes over masses.
Then rain returns, we've yet to learn.
We must forsake, all we make, the days are fake when we just take.
The winter's here to stay the year, for how can grace fulfill this race?
But if we try, though we still die, the snow recants it's chilling chant.
Though Days are rare, they're more then fare, when we dare, to say we care.
then spring will rise, to sooth our cries, until we feed the winter's need.
Though I dote, it's good to note,
I close with gleams, I doze to dreams.