The ghosts of blooms before the graves decay,
The deadly scents of yesterday portray.
Can things, stuck in memory, find their way
To conjure Hope, burning hot, not astray?
Dreams of desire from golden strings do flow,
Luring the heart towards a land of sorrow,
Where wintry winds howl like thoughts in a skull,
And fling uncertainties to haunt tomorrow.
The Conclusion:
Only today remains.
o x | o x | o x | o x | o x
o x | o x | o x | o x | o x
o x | x o | x o | o x | o x
o x | o x | x o | x o | o x