the colour and the season

there were some leaves
and some more green,
a dash of verdant,
valleys sloping down
spiralling up
and halting then
in midsummer dreams.

then a few shrubs
unkempt, uncared for
since ages long ago
and for years to come
they shall be, they shall be
springs lovenest,
with colours strewn
all over marigold mornings.
transformation of green
she said, smiling.

and i believed her.
in my pulsating wisdom
i knew she was right
she was, she was!
didn't she tell me once
in westbound prophecy
that colours were what
she was waiting for
since methuselah's times?

the thinning of time
lifted the crimson veil
of sunsets and dusks
in november skies.
winter, ah, winter
was it then when i held
her palms, moist in the colour
the butterfly left
in her dewy fingers.