#1944-Merry-go-round

Trees bare their soul,

By letting their leaves fall.

When the wind blows,

Truth is told,

And it feels biting cold.

Nowhere to go,

But stand tall,

In the fading sun,

Waiting for spring,

To once again come.

It’s no different for you,

Or me, I believe.

For those self-truths,

Which I’d like to avoid,

Feel harsh and cold,

Like icy winter days,

That never seem to end.

Still, days pass,

Spring does arrive,

And bruised hearts,

Do eventually revive,

To once again ride,

On this merry-go-round,

We call life.