Great stretches of wisteria's shadow
reach longingly through an endless field,
towards a slow dripping skyline that seemed
so much closer than it would ever know.

The sun's now passed. What could you hope to find?
I'm helpless but to bask in flowering
petals, falling like brush strokes blossoming,
painting the wind that'll leave us behind.

I've only wanted to be here with you
but like winter will do to your branches,
shades of grey ennui weigh on my canvas.
Like spring and the wind, I will leave you too.

Of all shades you are, all palettes you bear,
this sad overcast is the last we share.