The years have built walls around me and enclosed me. I cannot break out. My life has become so empty. I live as one in the tomb, as one in the grave. I cannot make myself heard, and no one breaks through the silence to me.

I feel myself drifting into the darkness. I cannot pull free. I sense doom. Beauty stirs my heart, and briefly I am revived. Wonder and awe reach out to me from afar, but my despairs overwhelm me. My despairs and fears have become my masters, and I have relinquished to them all control over my destiny.

I have become subservient to all those wretched worries and thoughts which illuminate the horrors latent in the human mind. Less and less am I able to summon hope. Too long have I been turned inward, too long has been my isolation, too long has been my separation from love.

The stars no longer inspire me. I am no longer thrilled by rainbows or sunsets. My heart leaps up no more at the sight of a flower or the sound of the birds singing. Nature even in Her most cheerful garb cannot put joy in my blighted heart. I no longer eagerly await the dawn and arise and greet the rising sun with joyful hope and anticipation in my heart.

Dark depression has enshrouded me. Like a base slave I have let it tyrannize over my heart. I must shake myself free from this oppression. The world is still bright and beautiful. There are many kind and good people. God still loves me. It is this foul despondency that has blinded my eyes and stopped my ears. If only i can make it through this dark night, I know there will be a bright dawn.

There's something joyful here
In the springtime of the year,
It's in the song of the bird,
And in other sounds I have heard;

It's in the spring shower,
And in the spring flower,
It's in the laughter of the young,
And in the glow of the sun;

It's in the butterfly,
And in the blue sky.
There is a joy in the spring night,
And in the stars so bright;

It's in people in love,
And in the treetops above,
It's in the grass on the hill,
And in the whippoorwill;

It's in the frogs that sing,
And well, I think it's in everything,
For in the springtime of the year
There's something joyful here.

I doubt if anytime is more beautiful than blossom time in the springtime of the year. In the spring how fresh and fragrant the air is, and how everything just kind of blossoms out all over the place.

There is no sense worrying and grieving. It won't help. I can't change things. I just have to learn to live with it. It's springtime now and things are bound to get better. The sweet-williams and bluebells are blooming in the woods, and the dogwoods and redbuds surely are pretty. The lilacs are blooming and their sweet fragrance wafts the springtime air.

Life is good, and it's a wonderful world after all. See, there are robins in the yard, and the daffodils and tulips are blooming. Things are not so bad. Listen to those birds sing. They surely are happy about something.

Outside the world is coming alive as little twigs are turning all colors and green is popping out of the soil and all over. Why, I even see a butterfly, and there are some baby rabbits. How could anything be bad or sad at blossom time?

And leaves, green leaves, fallen leaves,
And time to enjoy these,
Moments to be free,
Years to live and contentment to be.