I see more than what appears
To the naked eye,
For I can see the misunderstood tears
That troubled clouds do cry.

I hear the noise of the songbird
With nothing left to sing,
Its lack of the spoken word
Far worse than a broken wing.

I feel the sting of irony
That one wasp won’t survive
In a situation, so direly,
She dies so family can thrive.

I smell the grass, fresh with dew
Unaware of its major flaw,
A frost will come all too soon
And transform it into straw.

I taste the salt of the waters,
Where it comes from is now clear:
Hatred, lies, grudges, slaughters;
The cause of clouds’ misunderstood tears.