Walk past, move towards the door on hollow steps forward. You are answering another's word, another tide to sweep the lush, soft moss apart from your skin. Grown old, worn, against the hush. You will not remain silent while the world grows violent. Something dances for your curves, - while earth is rocking each grain of sand for your space to become lost pleading for the sun to never set, living for those words that come and go. You are the imprints of leaves within where the snow was kept. Beneath them, before the wind swept - the tears from where your face grieved, you discovered reverence, remembrance inside the veins of a vacant tree, the roots where headstones lost growth. You always find what forces severance - of the Spring skipping summer to dance to the fall of your form to a crawl. Farewell to the statues that carved you for the eternal view to seasons made askew. Hoping to love for the countless breaths used to extinguish candles, cold before winter conceals the light so old. A farewell to a sun before its death.