Anon

The colours of the world have lessened in saturation
It's a tragedy of mild proportions, if such a tragedy exists.
Shades of gray spill into sight and everyone's face is bland.

The wind's song is too faint to hear, the air is silent and dreary.
A meadow, once a beautiful lover, now but a clearing in the wood.
Even the trees have surrendered their roots to the indifference of this spirit.

Abandoned by the ruling power of desire, all are orphaned, all are alone.
In this thought we reunite, we come together.
Cherishing the scent of the oak and the lilies we seek a mere drop of purpose.

By the side of the barn a bird's conversation with the leaves is heard.
A freeze of hesitation, we finally approach him, ready for his wisdom.
He says to watch, smell, hear all we can as one day these abilities will desert us.
The colours will come back to you, he says. The wind will sing again.
A beautiful meadow will make love to the flowers and lift the dull souls from the dirt.

The pollen tickles our faces as it's blown through the air and we smell the breeze's breath.
The scent encourages our memories and we're reminded of angelic days.

Looking up at the blue blanket over the world, we see the paints of the wild anew.
Indifference has become the orphan now. Indifference bares shades of gray.
We have found our mother now, she bares but one name: our beloved Mother Nature.