A melancholy melody
Floats in softly on the breeze
Accompanied by a lone wolf crooning
And the shaking of the trees
Booming thunder is the percussion, whistling water reeds the flutes
There are no words in this private concert
It’s wild to it’s roots.

I take a peek outside my window
And breathe in the summer song
I find peace in the storms chaotic crescendo
We’ve been the same all along

Ivy grows in no set pattern.
Thick tendrils claw at the earth, the trees; blindly they climb whatever’s near.
Upturned leaves reach out
Searching desperately for just a little bit of warmth;

I guess in that way we are the same