Strewn I was

Like worn out leaves-

Death made them

Lose their colour.

All that was left

Was the brown dolor,

Rustling sound

And emptiness all around.


Then came you

Gently, like dandelions

Sifting through

My leaves and on them millions

Of tears like mildew.


Gathered the blades together,

From the milieu

Picked out a blue feather-

With your exquisite skin, a rendezvous

Reminded me of a bygone weather.


You brought

What I sought



Or so I thought.


Once I was

In a gloating heap

On the grass,

I fell asleep.

And to the music of the lyre,

Your freezing hands

Set me on fire,

Basking in the flames

As they rose up higher and higher.


My  ashes in fright

Saw it was night.

Spring was on the run.


Winter had just begun.