Overhead my spirit flies
Upon the ground and crimson skies
Whispering winds in moonlit woods
A totem oak once golden stood.

How I wish that you were here
Before all flowers disappeared.
We would lay together in the sun
Before the night rain had begun.

Now stones are falling from my hands
Shaking all my beloved land.
A watery glimpse back on my past
And only in my tears it lasts.

—Charles Bukowski

(Source: cocophony)