The breezy cold air touches the skin, <br />When walk in the quite streets barren, <br />The still homes filled with agitated human, <br />Scared of coming out to have their passion, <br />To be rejuvenated with the natural notion, <br />The dried leaves play with the emerging sun, <br />Acquiring the color of yellow on the run, <br />Brown and black after a few days of fun, <br />The breeze that pierce the hair of crown, <br />Change into the pressurized storm, <br />Chase all those dead leaves to the rim, <br />The path is cleared one more time, <br />The new leaves wait for their turn to plunge, <br />many a human not knowing of the pinch, <br />contented to teach what they have achieved, <br />everyone has their own fair share of preaching.<br /><br />veeraiyah subbulakshmi<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-cycle-36/
