Maybe we can't​ forget feelings

As they are known to us

Like old leaves of the trees, unfading

Into the autumn dust

And when the new ones sprout

With new beauty and season

The golden shadow of the old, shrouds

New possibilities in false reason.

As if the definitions​ have been

With iron set in stone

And the new ink keeps disappearing

Leaving the old, unfinished and alone.

Now when the golden tree stands

Alone in the field of snow

The blessings of the green that can

Save him, it doesn't even know.