Painting by van Gogh
At the end, a flowering tree,
Its petals cast on a sea of mists,
The dreams of all the world.
On the edge, a last tree bends,
Showering a whispering tapestry
Of lost loves and hopes,
Drifting into eternity.
When the end comes,
And all the blossom is fallen,
When cold winter strews dead leaves into the gulf,
Who will hear the last song of the wind,
Crying among black branches?