At times my world is foggy and nippy
rainy and droopy..
I am rolled in a niche of fickleness
My colors and glory may be blurred with mist
And my sun is shaded with grey
Or may shine brightly with temperate heat
I am wishing to stay long and nurture
this barren land with my fecund desire
Waking up in the first light of hope
When the world is reluctant for colder grope
I make your barn swells with harvest
From my garden of bounty wrought
By frenzy wind , gentle rain and
All these scourges must I meet?
To strew your dreary trail with blazing
And turn your frigid-melancholic confine
As time unfolds, my trees may be bare
But limbs are bold and strong, fit
to stand the heaving harshness
And have survived from muted desertion
and silent struggle...
Decayed proceeds of earth, I scatter
to bring forth spring flowers
My landscape is always an inspiration
for lost and seekers...
to poets and writers...
I am always a delight in your wonder gape
Mysterious, short-lived yet haunting...