I never understood the mess we made,
Nor could I come to terms with all we lost.
I once believed the final debt was paid,
But never did I understand the cost.
We sit here now, beneath this ancient oak,
Bequeathing daisies fashioned into chains.
Despite the leaves, the rainfall leaves us soaked,
And all we had begins to rust and wane.
If time was shaped and bent to fit our needs,
Or if the moon was always waxing bright,
Perhaps the wind would never rise from breeze,
And love would never blunt or lose its sight.
We crowned the seasons, summer back to fall,
But with the seasons' change, we lost it all.