The poetry of colours
(carved)
in the hidden music of the wind.
Young branches craving
(for the last embrace)
before they’re skinned
(of life)
in winter’s emptiness.
Leaves of the red are longing for the yellows
while golden strive for ones of green
a life of form and colour dies
(before our eyes)
a screen that shows the same keen scene
(each year of our coloured life).
