Wind in the Night

The night wind was icily cold. No herons or olive tree warblers flew, Only hooded black ravens, preying on the souls of lost men. More red-pinkish flowers dropped from the tree, leaving the branches bare until in a few days the green leaves will sprout, and the tree will remain flowerless, an ugly sight, shunned by all. Suddenly the wind dropped. He felt despair, sullen and dejected. Soon no one heard of him anymore. Some say he hanged himself upon the very tree that sheds its flora, Others believed he fell on a stump that pierced his bowels as he lived a recluse amongst an unknown tribe. Others made him their hero just for the sake of being different. But he was seen no more. The icy night wind blew, the Judas tree shed its odorless flowers, as true lovers escaped to scented bowers.