Your subtle self could
Incarnate me
on your canvas.
I am an autumn tree
sedate and grave
Jealous and disappointing.
What could emanate you
so passionately?
Hope of spring!
But spring too is to go
Like hot sun, heavy rains
and shivering cold.
You liked to wander
with me, vernal destiny
because you owe spring
and not me.
You find the inspiration,
In the nakedness of mine,
desirous storm inside you
was tantalised.
My agony is mine only.
Yes you are an artist can love me on your canvas.
On your way to spring.