Staring into the white-blue sky,
Up at a skeleton tree
Who shed its red, yellow, gold leaves
And shook its branches at me.
"Go home, my love, it's bitterly cold."
Light words mixed in the wind.
But home isn't home without a heart
And it's broken with no chance of a mend.
Writing down my mellow, calm thoughts
And singing about the rain.
Icy and hard spitting at me,
Causing discomfort and pain.
Night falls soon in the wintertime,
Telling me summer's long gone.
But I refuse to accept that fact,
Since he still won't answer his phone.
The tree and I, we sit side by side
Beside this near frozen lake.
Awaiting a natural disaster of sorts,
A tornado, or an earthquake
To rip us from our sturdy roots
And cast us into the sky
Where we can face our most horrid fears,
And from here we can fly.