Springtime is flowers and sunshine and trees and rain.
But underneath all that false beauty in its rawest state is pain.
The green grass growing sparsely is trying to be brave
Despite the fact it is covering a new stone grave.

Outside, birds chirp and fly into the bright blue sky
Inside, my heart falls apart and slowly dies
Because below the surface, everything is not always what it seems
And the true me is trapped, trying to be heard by my screams

Every time a bluebird sings in its tree
I hear a car start, the turning of an engine with a key
And every time a dotted egg hatches to expose a baby lark
I hear the car crash, the night full of bright orange sparks.

Because whenever a stranger asks how many children my family has
I see a gravestone, covered in tears from the past
And my mother’s answering voice, weighed down with sorrow
“I have seven children: six with me and one in Heaven.”