Counting down days with the grieve of
An innocent introvert priest on a death row
Thinking what I reap I did not sow.

Counting down from ten to one
But zero never come.
Night rolled into days,
Days into months--
Months into years--

Hope fades away leaving sweet nothing;
Nothing but pleasant memories,
Memories tuned with solemn sounds,
Sounds of two sorrowful flutes
Singing Nothing
Nothing but nothing last forever;
Nothing ever will.