In Between

river-in-early-spring

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.


Advertisements

5 thoughts on “In Between”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s