Whispers at sunset

On a sunset, before the night fall

as the earth paused after the day's run,

A leafless tree whispers to the sinking sun;

Friend, you drop to gleam again

Alas! I will end to never began.

Asks the sun, Hey tree, where are your leaves?

Goats ate few; to light the dark others were sheaved.

So where are those colourful flowers, my dear?

I saw you always held them with lots of care.

Some, in bouquets, at occasions , graced;

in medicine and perfume industries others were placed.

Tell me friend, where are your branches now?

The herdsman axed quite a few to shelter his cow.

See, some still are left in me weary, dry;

will burn to warm the cold , as and when I die.

Listen my friend, my dear tree

my dusk promises a new dawn;

your dusk vows to live on.

I give the world a new hope

The world breathes with your floral envelope.