Pitter patter pitter patter
The sound of raindrops gently peppering the wooden roofs
Cold, so cold
Like angels' tears that froze.
Rain dots the bleak landscape,
The last, sparse patches of green,
Living their final days,
Yearning for light and glory,
But shrouded in grey,
Before the whiteness takes all.
Just a month ago,
The world was set ablaze,
In a riot of colours and hues.
A tribute to life,
An effort to be vibrant till the very end.
The bare branches stand silent now.
Sentient beings, going back to ancient sleep as powder falls from the heavens.
Sleep, sleep, sleep oh children of the great mother,
Sleep till it's time to live again.
But alas, we the race of thinkers,
Of ponderers, of philosophers,
Of narcissists who think we are better than life itself!
For us there is no sleep,
Only a wait, a long wait,
For the whiteness to fade and the colours to come back.
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