by ashwinia


Dew drops on the leaf,

beads of sweat on her forehead,

Waiting for the hour.


They embrace the wind,

he holds her hand assuring,

Waiting for the hour.


Leaves wait, expecting

Her eyes tense, revealing fright

Waiting for the hour.


Old and dry ones fall

An excruciating pain

It is almost time.


They vie for the view

She pushes, pushes, pushes

A moment away.


The splendid sun shines

She hears a gentle soft cry

A matchless feeling.