Breath of Meadows

When I'm gone. I hope what's left of me becomes. Part of the

breath on the meadows. That whoever may look won't see shadows.

But all things worth praising in beautiful halos. Each blow of the breeze

spreads the leaves and believes. It's exactly where it needs to be.

Oh, how delicately they move. Whether the wind be gentle or

cruel. Mm. Mm. And say what you will 'bout

a heart. But all I believe they were made to ring true.

Like the snow and the cold, the rain and the fog become one.