Branched Hand

Sweetest flowers growing dim

From the clouds rolling in

Darkness takes their beauty away

As we wish for the color to stay

As they fall off the hand 

We see the wilting leaves

The stems they die 

As the rain of hate

Slowly kills them

We should notice the lead filled rain

From all the years full of pain

Many more of ones with grief

And suffering

Hoping for the sky to clear

For the fear of dying flowers

Never to see the light of day

Wanting for the pedals
Not be so darkened gray

For the freedom that the sun brings

The rays that slowly shine through

Giving strength and love

Helping the branched hand 

Not lose to many flowers and leaves