Winding is blowing the trees down south.
Telling the story that we have all talked about.
Hiding the fact of the pain it holds.
Listening to the sorrow that only a few knows.
Wondering when its turn will be.
Not knowing that place or the destiny.
Just knowing the feeling of something that cannot be told.
Working with other to give strength that it will never receive.
Walking the path that is never common.
Always there to lend rest when in need.
The secrets that are going to the place that no one knows.
The place where only lovers go.
The place where sorrow is home.
The trees down south have a story to be told.