These trees stand,
casting about in their solemn silence, whispering 
of the deepest secrets of man, bearing 
their hearts on the heaving winds, that cut cold
through these hallowed grounds.
And the tears of heaven wash 
the wounds from our broken hands, as we 
raise them up to praise, in the 
sorrow that we endure, heavily
on these shoulders that carry this, 
our burden; breaking image of life. 
We hope only, because we are somehow sustained, by
this love, which is so much the source of
our pain. Sweet Savior, we pray that you
help us, now, as we weep in our 
unbelief.