The Retreat

The night's foggy veil
Was shredded
By her intermittent wail.
Her tear soaked rendition
From the mountain foot
Wafted to touch the heaven.

From the foliage, a bird unknown,
Rendered the sky, storm torn.

The morning peeks
To take in the vision
Of the trees and peaks
Draped in downy flakes
And  blossoms fatigued,
After the winter's fashion..

If only it was the cuckoo,
Then Spring would do well to,
Conspire with the rainbow,
The powdery shroud be smeared
With varied,not just one hue...but,
All that the sky wears after the pour.

The veil is yet to lift,
For, the lazy Sun,
Is not swift on it's feet.
However, not long,
Before it comes undone.

Not in a too distant time, later,
The spring and the summer,
Will come dancing along,
To the tune of their joyous song.

How could the Sun not come alive?
And with them, break into a jive?,
Then,where'd the fog and mist hide?
On what gloom would they thrive?
                                                  Chandni.