The birds chirruped,
I heard the noise,
But not the singing.
The fire burned,
I felt the heat,
But not it's warmth.
The sun shone,
I saw the light,
But not the beauty it illuminated.
The flowers bloomed,
But all I saw was weeds.
So I closed my eyes and dreamed of better times,
'Til I mourned the life I'd dreamed away.
© Lindsey Chapman - http://word-weaving.blogspot.com/
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