Warmth of the Cold

Warmth of the Cold

We have our seasons too,
As nature in its perfection;
And life in its chaos.
Dripping from your face is the element.
Stinging in your heart is the regret.
Time is an illusion of nature;
But not the soul.

Shades of the foliage change;
When sunlight that kisses,
Is not enough to grow or heal.
With bitter wind and silent air,
Stirring though the few leaves.
Ancient harmony that binds us.
Speaks the warmth inside.

The tree that is deeply rooted will survive.
And will be fruitful again soon,
In its glory dancing under the sun.
To know how deep and strong,
To know how gentle and sweet,
Only do you know when the tree is gone.
Sometimes by the smallest storm.