...wish I could rewind time planting back all the fallen leaves to it's mother tree,
pushing back waves to the billow, dry up our sliver linen pillows.
Wish I could take all back to the time  not so long behind,
hiding  my  hands under your coat, rolling mellow words up my throat. 
Wish I could now cut timid winds that blew this direction
'cause those deceived  the eyes that lost from sight one perfection.

...but my fistless hands and these sour throats poignantly spit
the  apple tree....it all my fault be, that these wretched islands
do not silently, commonly weep. It be all my fault for the
pile of knots I am. ...if there be forgivennes in thy wounded land,
if there be a glow that smoulders through thick forest,
believe,  I'd give my life away, to kiss once more thy hand.