i feel the wind as it cries “hope”
and pushes me to tasks undone;
there’s no one seems to understand,
or maybe everyone

there is a cry off in the woods,
of one who’s lost her only love;
and I would comfort her, except
she is a mourning dove

and mourning has its season, as
the bitter day turns empty night;
i feel the wind as it cries “hope”
and wish that i
could make it
right