“Those storms,
Alive with leafs,
As musical instruments,
Stealthy invading,
My mind wails;
Harsh and cruel,
Wind driven and unkind
Grief, choking and weep’ng.
For that sun th't once was,
Of days now so long gone;
Will that cradling wind,
Waving those boughs afar,
With indifference ‘n mind,
And sit on its throne,
Enfolding long dead leafs;
He has taken them away,
His indigo colour fill’d sky,
That once held a sun-gild’d air.
Now just a dead grace,
And horizons fill’d dreamy hues;
Shatter’d songs of winter’s tale,
With indifference, they sing,
Of summer’s gracel’ss dead,
And her eternal soul,
Filled with colour, now gone.”
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
“Those storms,
Alive with leafs,
As musical instruments,
Stealthy invading,
My mind wails;
Harsh and cruel,
Wind driven and unkind
Grief, choking and weep’ng.
For that sun th't once was,
Of days now so long gone;
Will that cradling wind,
Waving those boughs afar,
With indifference ‘n mind,
And sit on its throne,
Enfolding long dead leafs;
He has taken them away,
His indigo colour fill’d sky,
That once held a sun-gild’d air.
Now just a dead grace,
And horizons fill’d dreamy hues;
Shatter’d songs of winter’s tale,
With indifference, they sing,
Of summer’s gracel’ss dead,
And her eternal soul,
Filled with colour, now gone.”
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