The Outburst of Lamentations

The buds are blooming, And there are no storms looming Even the leaves are sustaining each other, To reshape the trees and gather. Spring was declared to be our guest, But this perished flower wasn't so blessed. It was locked under this dark roof And the golden sun rays couldn't reach its root. It was so chilling in this dim place: Spilled wine; scarlet trace, Bottles flung at the walls Broken pieces prevailing the halls, And there stood the relinquished piano With our perished flower lying on its furrow. Everything was so static; But they were silently lamenting their fate in tragic. And when a ray of sunlight entered from a hole You glimpse the letters molded on the wall: " Thou art the best soldier, With thy uniform and thy carbine on thy shoulder. But war and death summoned thee.. And what remained was: misery and me. Thee ripped my heart from content, Thee left me hither with thine scent! Why did thee leave? Our bond was never meant to cleave.. And now I am yearning for former days: When drinking wine with thee was my grace, When playing the piano for thee was no reverie And the flowers we planted were our best scenery. ....." The whole wall was repleted with lamenting words, That were accumulated together to form countless poems Carved by the tears of the woman, whom her soldier died and left her less human.