The Hawk Still Flies

It matters not that I now breathe
the wind still blows its kiss
a gentle touch to teach the flowers
to wave away the days in bliss

It matters little if I cry
the saddest rain still sings in key
a babbling voice of newborn brooks
life's precious sound of melody

None will recall that I once loved
a maiden fierce of heart
we dappled in the cherry trees
but blossomed while apart

It matters hardly that I walk
the paths of life's despair
the vines will overgrow the way
arms flung out wide embrace the air

It matters nothing if I die
or live a life serene
The Sun will warm her child Moon
A half-shaped smile is sometimes seen

No one will know the emptiness
when innocence is gone
instead the larks will serenade
and sing their mating song

What matters is the hawk still flies
upon the painted sky
its spirit soaring evermore
as one we watch the Earth roll by