Under the pergola upon the lawn,
lays a book of old covered in tears from days long gone,
alas so many tears spilt over a world gone wrong,
for the song of life,
it weaves itself through the emotions,
and casts a lot of shadows upon the heart,
for when beauty comes,
so, we revel happily in such a delicate art,
such as it is and as glorious as the dewdrops on the grass,
reflecting light and colour instead of dark,
for such bitterness over thousands of years,
through war and death,
has cloaked the Earth,
and broken hearts,
and with the grim reaper taking far too many,
death has been long such of nature a twisted part,
and never knowing, when it will come,
we quickly spiral down into a hole,
without a light for the dark,
and we look for the answers of how it starts,
wishing for the best,
and hoping for a long life,
a life as long lasting as the stars,
but alas it is often not the way,
and with such shortness, there is not much time,
before another person has passed,
and under the pergola upon the lawn,
more tears do drop upon the book,
that contains the emotions of billions of hearts,
and the memories of the past.