Withering away like the leaves in winter
The dry air brushes across
Taking strands of memories,
Spring waits to see how long will winter continue
Something snaps.
A twig beneath my foot,
Decayed, let not yet ready to die
It registers its protest
A stray leaf falls off a branch
Like a stray thought that wandered into my mind
Or a purposeless game in the journey of life
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Spring isn't far behind. The flowers have already started popping up their heads. Amazing sense of timing they have. :)
ReplyDeleteU shud get dem published...they could be part of good literature some day
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