Middle of March
Feel dark and withered,
Of soulless dreams and uncertainty,
Yes! Life is not the end just yet,
Neither am I giving up on those lousy days of Spring.
Cold winds of March,
Howlings of dogs turned into lifeless wolves,
Of white and grey,
Smoke but never fog and misty days.
Let sunshine beats its rhythm,
Of oak tree and lavender pudding,
Cherry blossoms turned yellow with a storm of white doves,
Bitter but never satisfied to the core.