Chance

There are some rhymes in the trees of a backyard
They just seem to melt in the light of a shadow
They just seem to disappear in the morning of forever
For where was forgiving in the ever
For where was now may be a never
There's just a path in the fields quite looming
And may the way be of kind consuming
There's just a glance on the waves of silver
A frantic frame in the caves of slow motion
There's just a depth at the front of the ceiling
There's just a cold on the ground of each feeling
There's just a chance not too late to believe in