Tired withered the strong survive,
each day a struggle to survive.
Beneath red skin bruises lay,
unbeknownst soon to fade away.
Winds of change blow on hearts red,
take away pain the hearts have bled.
The tree of life grows fruit of pain,
clings to hope washed by the rain.
The strong hold on to branches bare,
still hanging on no worse for wear.
Soon the harshness of life shall call,
even the strongest of strong will fall.
