Left only is the echo of the water’s laugh
The birds’ little whispers still can be heard.
The moon isn’t full, it’s only half
Sun’s clear rays have been made fuzzy and blurred.
Melody misses Harmony-her friend
Nightime longs to hear the old barn owl’s hoo.
The sowing thread has split and needs a mend.
White dove has long forgotten how to coo.
A book has lost its spine, and thus, its voice,
Paper has vowed to reject all writing.
Free will has deserted, leaving no choice.
Peace is buried, there is only fighting.
The universe needs balance on its grand scale;
If try is needed, there must be a fail.
