Sadness

The sadness it grows,
Up from the trees,
Its roots are so deep,
What does it need?

 

It makes things so black,
It makes happiness bleed,
But rays are not so shiny,
Its blood breeds the weeds.

 

As they entwine,
It pulls daisies down so,
The sadness it creeps,
The daisies do weep.

 

But through the leaves of the trees,
Thick and black with colour,

A sprinkling of light,
The need, needs to be freed.

 

 

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