Buried in grounds less sound than the mind,
Exhumed from grass now ashen and burned,
Arises a voice not of choice but of time;
Appointed to speak at the peak of its turn,
Predestined to silence when silence so deems.
Impassioned cries in eyes hid deep
Scream for a moment but relent their way.
Soon-coming years hold tears to weep.
After the passing of gentler days,
Mountains give way unto valleys it seems.