Soon, dawn withers; even the dew
Minutes shorten, breath goes
Life breaks, and the ground receives
There comes the end to much; even silence
Then words begin to chase winds
Like life. Sober, dry and gone.
We will pay that which is due
when winter comes and cold creates
No peace, like a little gnome
But there will come an end to even more
a single light along the shore, soon embraces the dark
and fireflies, they too, will find it brighter
Truth becomes a cold stone
Memories wilt, when winter stirs the broth
and everyone sips.