Pink blossoms beam upon the cold touches of snowflakes,
Witches roam behind the shadow of nothing,
Trees uproot themselves and bankrupt,
Wall street wanes in its drying furrows,
Tall buildings “Fallen out of the perpendicular”,
Landscapes “that have once been battlefield”,
We’re on someone else’s estate not far from North Pole.
How simply the fire goes out like a match?
How sadly the wounds remain on surface?
It’s told that the best can be noticed for a property is:
It allows a man to fall in love with the landscape,
With woods of trees discovered and explored,
While self-interested birds are given places to preen
Until the space you count on gets lost once again,