Melancholy aka The last days of summer(dedicated to Moromete, written today 28th August)

Birds fly south and trees shed skin
the flowers die and the leaves fly
to another world, away from pain and sin
where children play in the fields of rye



the painting of it all looks dark and grey
people are covering their bodies more and more
although it's still sunny and everything's ok
we feel the warmth of summer, but we're cold at the core


we're waiting for a new cycle to arrive
winter will pass and leave its heavy print
only for our hearts to blossom and to thrive
summer will return, for now it's gone with the wind.


T.