It has started drizzling here;
tiny droplets, shy and reserved.
As if undecided,
whether to spring into a shower,
or fade away.
A breeze, whispering sweet nothings into my ear, accompanies it.
And phantom lovers occupy the lone bench on the pavement, flooded in golden light.
And I stand here,
in this dark green grove;
Secretly and lovingly embraced, by the trees, and the warm air held in their boughs.
The crickets sing to me their lullaby;
As I slowly become a shadow,
to the people passing by.
To my immense glee,
they walk on,
like ants wearing pants;
As I stand here,
from the bark of a tree.