The tree mocks wind by whistling, cloud mocks night by wrapping the sun; tranquility and calm weighing on to muse or to mock each other like the tree, (like) the cloud and period as the poet long for summer all of a sudden, not the warm air tinged with cold in minimal proportion; the song of cuckoo derides the silence the noon holding, singing at high pitch, but, period (again) the poet is disturbed as he doesn’t want to write any…thing; he’s in want of warmth of the love, hidden under the coldness of the incomplete love story.
My first attempt in the Prose Poem pattern. Please let me know your review.
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
For Daily Prompt: Desire