Musings over a Morose Morning
Awakened from a sleepless night,
Grief-stricken sunflowers shun away the morning light
The sweet song of the cuckoo is heard no more
The eerie silence sounds like the shrieks of a whore
The depressions on the crags have deepened
Distances between bipolar cliffs widened
The fast arrived spring has beckoned the fall
The proximal mountain appears farther and unreachably tall.
Pensive, perturbed clouds glooming in melancholia,
Recollecting the maddening mists of euphoria.
A growing sense of isolation and vacuity
The valley awaits the restoration of inner peace and tranquility