I remember those sweet lavender morns
Where wilting marigolds are forlorn
And the breeze is gentle, aye
  With people who couldn’t die.

That time when the day seemed young
With every rise of our lungs.
Despite the rising Night
We’re safe within the Light.

When the orange sky was reborn
And turned the yellow of corn.
We would rise from our beds
New thoughts in our heads.

We’d travel to school
To learn something cool
Amongst our friends
And helpful hands.

Innocent in reality
Until growing brutality.
And be taught that day
That we can’t be gay.

With no smile to cross our lips
And no beat to swing our hips
We would mope in misery
Until Life be breathed into we.

So our young lives made us strong
With the careful Smith’s tongs
To be sung in gleeful songs
And be no wrong.
So when I remember those lavender morns
I see the marigolds no more.