Flowers
Humming birds hone a sweet rhythm,
serenade: twittering sparrows
hang around in the Hope emanating Dawn,
but no blooming flowers in my garden,
but only sinking buds in the mud ,
bitten by the cruel frosty hands of
shrivelling Winter,
the half lived stems
crave for the warmth,
looking upwards, what else
they could do? Where else
they expect ? could it be from
mostly self centred humanity?
Trees know better.
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