We always remember at the final hour,
time runs by, and soon too late.
Without time, we have no more power.
 
We wait, until the bell rings on the tower,
the clock, slowly, begins to rotate.

With lips red as a rose,
my face pale, like a ghost,
I study, in the mountains, where
bitter frost digs through my skin.
 
I sit, by the window, wondering,
why am I here? To learn,
to find a better life, miles

Under the shade
of an old tree,
I find a place,
to rest, and enjoy.
The tree stands tall,
with leaves green as emerald.
It fills the streets
with fresh air.
I climb onto its branches.
It lets me see,
far, far away.