Her Love grew in my heart like a monsoon sapling. Nourished on the passionate blood it grew fast. The larger it grew the deeper it's roots ran.
As winter came, the leaves withered away, and what was once so full of life, grew bare and dry. What she saw was that the leaves had fallen, what I saw was that the trunk was still strong and ungiving. What she saw was that the colors had faded away, what I saw was the hope that it would be back to its old majesty one fine summer day.
Impatience was a poison that corrupted her mind. And I patiently watched as she took the axe to the tree. Each hack at the old stump cut deep and fast, but I waited knowing the pain won't forever last.
For once the log fell down to the ground, she heaved a sigh of relief. Good riddance was what she believed. But unaware to the eyes which saw just the stump, she forgot that the roots in my heart were too deep to be perturbed.
For once the log fell down to the ground, she heaved a sigh of relief. Good riddance was what she believed. But unaware to the eyes which saw just the stump, she forgot that the roots in my heart were too deep to be perturbed.
And there they lie still, where they hope and strive. Gathering the strength for the coming summer and keeping the little sprouts from the dead stump alive.
