• The season of
    What we call spinning color
    Of what comes naturally to our hands
    We look forward for the mixes of pastels
    Flowing bright light comes from the skies

    Flowers blooming through fields of imperfection
    The calm beauty around these plains of me
    Buds and bulbs line
    The sidewalks of that of which cannot be touched
    Powerful speaking inside the lines of we

    They walk through fields of what I thought was beauty
    Until the day
    When we cannot find what is in
    Who they call me
    The day is closer than it seems

    Looks in the Spring
    Of what I thought was beauty
    Flowing pastures and overwhelming skies
    Don't lose yourself inside their orchids
    The fruits of Eve run wild

    Bringing down the flower of the field
    The bright
    Bitter taste of what we once saw beautiful
    Leaving behind them
    The dust of what we once saw unworthy

    Uncommon
    I cannot find those French colored lights
    Of all those loving
    Coming into that orchid
    Leaving with I

    I once held dear
    The one thing that brought me the pastels
    Once coming to pick me
    Up out of the ground, roots behind
    Leaving with what I once thought was Spring