My garden has been awaiting
dead-frozen-still
silent foliage, overwhelmed,
ceding to chillwinter’s will
Our sky has been accepting
lost-distant-cold
changing colours, comatose,
bowing to bleaknature’s hold
A tree has been heralding
fresh-greedy-glad
unknown rumble, eagerly,
waking to timekeeper’s fad
The earth has been announcing
red-lively-hot
coughing nature, forcefully
playing to vastcosmos’ plot
Our future has been disrupted
grim-cruel-black
turning tables, viciously
waiting to springseason’s track
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