winter

Clouds have a tendency to drift,
To change colours and to shape-shift
The sky bears mute testimony to their capricious dance

The leaves are no less mischievous,
How they cloak the world in canopies of green,
Only to burn scarlet and gold, shrivel up and drift away,

The trees now abandoned, colourless,
They wait in silent expectation
For the vagabonds to come back home

Winter always take the blame, for leafless branches and broken hearts
For laying bare this naked truth of nature and man
There are some that drift, and others that stay
Their paths cross again and again
Until, from each other, they stop running away