Mayhem it is,
When the wind surges on to kiss the treetops,
Fuelled by the rhapsodies of turbulent rain drops.
All goes quiet once the leaves are drenched,
Bowed down, by the love offered.
The whirly wind leaves delighted,
Humming to the mirth of the drizzle retired.
Spring again, for the rustic meadows
Dancing in line with the breezy tunes.
Haughty flowers with their vibrant hues,
Cuter ones with their gentle charms
Those quirky sorts with the rarest scent
All together with a sublime hint.
Springs are here to come again
Lose not those hopes, for you will gain
Winters are not forever meant,
For hibernations to be not transient.
