The Wait
She had left when I returned from the forest,
like when the sun leaves as evening approaches.
The mountains never complained;
seasons played their tricks on that basis,
otherwise trees would have withered
as rains left and summer simmered.
Now the winter gossips with autumnal parch,
and the mountains laugh a silent laughter,
a cave ricochets sound of a giggling bride.
His face smiles with knowledge; a sunbeam
cajoles the snow to melt under its influence;
she was sure to return.
--
c s shah
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