The snowflakes kiss my bitter bliss,
And congregate upon my wrists.
The bank is cold as I've been told,
But time itself is growing old.
The breeze is sweet upon my feet,
And still I've yet some peace to meet.
I carry weight as all can state,
I don not ask for love or hate.
The sun, it shines, I seek to find,
A place to find some peace of mind.
I lay too still and bear my will,
For all the world to poke and drill.
The day's too long to carry on,
And thus I think of days long gone.
Of mighty greeks as mothers weep,
And all the world in silence keep.
I fear to leave for then I'll breathe,
And in such pain I'll finally grieve.