As the drops fall

I wonder

Whether they are meant to cool us

Or the cries of

Those above us.

When the wind blows

When I feel it in my hair

I feel like some one caressing me

And yet at times

It stings.

When I put my hands through the bushes

I like the feel

Of the softness

Of buds, flowers and leaves,

The texture of the stem

And yet some times

Splinters upon me feed.

When the sun beams

It fills me up

With the warmth

To battle the frost

To destroy the darkness within

And yet at times

It burns

And dries me up.

I guess we must all

Read the signs

Of how mother nature

Warns us of where

Our steps lead.

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