Surrounded by pitch black teeth, darker than the sky.
Like falling down an empty hill, your words, a cold wind, take me to the valley.
Away from the yellows, reds and whites,
Sometimes blues, even blacks, but mostly green.
They used to capture us with hands, with hearts, in pictures.
Only the morning sun showed our tears.
The day became brighter, the pain grew faster, hidden in our beauty.
Now I am washed away with the flow, waiting for someone to pick me up.
But the waterfall is coming closer and those southern lands are nothing but memories.
I was not alone or unhappy, though in the end no one noticed that I was never blooming.