April time and here they lay,
Soft slumberers,
Under that virgin shroud of,
Blossoms white and pink.
In restful sleep of centuries,
Oblivious to seasons change,
Of petals fall and budding leaf,
In soft shade 'neath a drowsy sun,
Still growing to his summer strength,
Whilst crickets chirp soft lullabies,
Each one a counterpoint of sound,
A quiet susurration in the grassy stands,
To dim old thoughts of life.