In Between


There comes a times
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
life will bloom
once again.


5 thoughts on “In Between”

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