I longed within lines of poetry,
Like leaves and twigs long—
For the weather to be.
Singing songs of their beloved tree,
I found a festival, where kids were dancing on the roadside.
Syncing steps with the typical rhythm,
On a mundane day—bullseye.
I won't rhyme it longer.
For now, words aren't able to bear my feelings,
The ones which are growing stronger.
Captivating my mind a bit longer—
Music, dance, and throwing those colours up so high.
Giving happy hues back to the sky.
This affection taught me—
How poetry makes words—
Which never die.