The leaves turn to tell the age,
From a tender bud,
To a parchment page.

The green blue waters turn frozen grey,
It cries out
To you in pain.

The winds were blowing, it howled your name.
Its prayers were surely,
Not in vain.

The night devours the light of day,
But from the heavens,
Shine forth your rays.

All rights reserved © 2017 Josephine Joyil

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