by Iona Mandal
The oak tree in my garden waltzes
In the crisp summer breeze,
I watch like a hawk.
The bee buzzes sailing through my wavy black hair,
The grass gently cuffs my hands.
The lavenders glance in my direction
Giving me a timid smile.
The clouds darken as the crow swoops to its nest,
The rain falls like the clouds are crying,
Fat, resonant droplets
Is it me crying or is it the rain?
I cannot tell.
It all happens so quickly.