Until Next Spring
I want to spend all my time on the lawn
Watching, breathing in the Oak, Birch, Willow
Starting from the end of the day till dawn
Their deaths are expected, their graves shallow

Tree’s small workers, with their ending stories
Deceasing with their gorgeous impressions
The leaves die with their infinite glories
Gold, red showing their merry expressions

Their deaths are nearing, now is their adieus
To see a life pass, not a soul to stay
Winter spells out its plan, living things loose
The crisp air nips as I sit, as I lay

And I anticipate for the life next spring
Once again I see their lives mending