The leaves can't promise
Autumn that they won't change
or the trees when they'll return by Spring...

When you come back,
please kiss me like the bees do
the roses in the summer,
gently stroke my face
like snowflakes in mid-winter...

Cover me like the raindrops do
in the middle of droughts
that brings the hues of rainbows,
dark skies and dull grey clouds,
and the confused winds that don't know
whether to blow left or right...

I could have sworn I heard
your name brought in by the breeze,
whispered amongst the plants and branches,
passed along to the worms and slugs,
chirped to the birds and fireflies,
landing to the cats and dogs,
and finally, to me, that
this time will be different...

The caterpillar can't promise
Autumn that they won't change
or who they'll be by Spring.



I guess I'll try again next season...