A desolate wooden tanned bench,
That stood beside the Sycamore
Glinted as the sun rays
Kissed the pallid soft snowflakes
Garnering there since morn.
And the bleak winds that howled
Through the rangy pines,
Swept away the maple leaves from the silver path.
I stood immobilized by the Sycamore
Waiting for you
As you avowed to come
After a decade of your dearth.
My mind fossicking for your images,
Envisioning your comeliness,
I am quivering in the biting cold.
But where are you?
Ah! here you come in all elegance.
Or is it only my hallucination?
P