My Grief

    Death reminds me of the leaves in the winter.
First, the leaves on the tree are full of their natural color, and then slowly, they lose their life.

   It turns cold, and now the tree is bare. My heart is often cold. My heart is often bare.
 
The spring reminds me that there is still life. The tree becomes beautiful again.

  My heart is not all broken. My grief slowly is replaced by joy as the sun peaks through the clouds.