When was it that beauty turned to ash?

When the grand oak began to sag,

its majestic stature bowing to the filthy ground.

When was it green faded to brown?

When the gentle rose blooms were plucked from their unsuspecting stems,

stolen away by a curious and skittish crook.

When was it that foundations crumbled to ruin?

When ages of memories were choked out,

bound by an overgrowth of slithering, snakelike vines.

When was it that laughter gave way to silence?

When the last of the beds went cold,

the creaking floorboards splintering into dust.

When is it that the blossoms can bloom once more?

When eyes are cast upon a new horizon

and haunting memories are replaced for a set of new dreams.