The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.
~ William Cullen Bryant
I saw a heart
carved in bone,
split in two pieces,
Under bare limbs,
a fiery blanket of death,
waiting to rot
back to life.
“Do you hear me, man?” the Wind howls. “You’ve turned the Seasons into a ruthless bitch. And through the bark, Nature is weeping her heart out.”
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.