In Between

There comes a times

between

the eve of winter

and the morn of spring

when one cannot distinguish

between the beginning of life

and the time of death.

The dull ground and

the sunken willow trees

mourn the the bitter looking

fallen leaves.

Melancholy becomes

a jolly friend,

the wind a loud companion,

the only sign of life

that remains

is the roaring sound

of the river and

the grains of sands

jostling in jest,

bringing news

at nature’s behest;

there will be life,

the earthen canvas

will be coloured,

where there was

death

life will bloom

once again.