Harken now
as the westerly wind softly intones a low
mournful dirge.

While the reeds at the water’s edge
pick up the sad refrains
and over them
they transpose their quavering
illusionary measures.

Broken up occasionally by a discordant sigh.

The birds passing by
pause a moment
as they listen crestfallen
to the slow, sorrowful lament.

Which they keep time to
with a dull thrumming of the wings.

And a sweet blending-over
of fading trills.

Which becomes barely perceptible
amidst the echo-booms
of the loud thundercloud drums.

And the intermittent tinkling sound
of the raindrops.

As they pelt the leaves
on the musical tree of magical colors.

Which having once danced
and enjoyed life and freedom so much
now stands condemned.

Hopelessly rooted
to this one solitary spot.

And so it droops over
with dampened spirits.

As it beholds the birds,
the wind, the reeds
and all the other players

in this lonely cheerless pastoral.

Trying to recall a time
when it didn’t once glance backwards
and think of things precious
that were
but are no more.

While the grey, somber sky
conductor
of this orchestrated
remembrance

soothes
their saddened spirits
by serenading them
with a melodious rainbow.

Which heralds
the promise of a new day.

When all of nature
will once again
sing in tune.