When half the world turns cold and fades to grey,
The flowers weep, their colors torn apart,
And light surrenders, lost without its ray.
The skies once blazed with gold at break of day,
Now hollow specters whisper in the dark—
When half the world turns cold and fades to grey.
The rivers, once alive in bright array,
Flow silent now, as if they’ve lost their heart,
And light surrenders, lost without its ray.
The echoes of a sun too weak to stay
Stretch long across the fields that fall apart—
When half the world turns cold and fades to grey.
No songbird dares to lift a tune in play,
Their voices muted, broken from the start,
And light surrenders, lost without its ray.
Yet still, I hope the hues will find their way,
That color will return where shadows start,
When half the world turns cold and fades to grey,
And light surrenders, lost without its ray.
My first villanelle!
