mPoetry 2

5

As you leaves,
the tree stays and awaits
through the nightfall- so dark and quiet.
Certain of your return the next dawn,
the tree bristles eagerly as the sun rises,
the branches yearns to embrace your warmth.
But now it's almost dusk, yet you never came.
My love for you as it were the tree;
waiting hopelessly for your presence;
but every dawn is a false hope,
and every dusk is a silent night.

- M. Safrain