There are divots among the barren marsh
And wavering brush, silken leaves kissing the breeze
Breaks in the clouds letting the light through
The tones are aged with strands of white
Like old souls, waning memory, the lost, the few

She is ancient
Her thoughts are deep
A well with no bottom
And she keeps what she sows

Shadow crests and hides away until forgotten
The fallen cringe never complaining
Their heritage and instinct blink out
Laying waste to all thought, motivation
To live another day changing route

She is ancient
Her thoughts are deep
A well with no bottom
And she keeps what she sows

Another decaying surface becoming one, another divot
Seeds to plant a wavering brush, silken leaves, white
Until the fallen are utterly forgotten, a strand
Of white among many in this barren marsh
They keep reaching for heaven, until they wilt and can’t stand

She is ancient
Her thoughts are deep
A well with no bottom
And she keeps what she sows