Half of the Spring


Wild gusts of dewy wind
ruffled the budding leaves, lush green
and whispered that half of the Spring is gone.

The solitary cuckoo’s mating calls
grow louder and more desperate,
as the Summer approached.

Only a month is left
before the scorching Summer days
appear with flaming vengeance in their mind
to parch the sky and to watch the fields burn.

Wild gusts of wind ruffled the budding leaves
and whispered that half of the Spring is gone.

The bright and ugly days
have already become longer
than the silent hours of the waning nights.

The solitary bard’s wandering thoughts
become fainter and less obvious
with even lesser time to concentrate.

Only a month is left
before the vicious Summer days
settle down with flaming vengeance in their mind
to parch the sky and to watch the fields burn.

Wild gusts of wind ruffled the budding leaves
and whispered that half of the Spring is gone.

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