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I never really liked yellow,
but then you called me a yellow daisy.
my home was full of yellow petals of spring.
I gathered all the flowers you grew on me,
tended them with my heart,
watered them with my soul.
But now the summer is on me,
the petals are blemishing, the leaves are withering,
and so are we.
The ones left open, flew away to the shores,
to bloom next spring with utmost glow.
And here I sit with the summer moon,
counting my yellow petals,
thinking if they would be here for a week or more?!
And will we be finding solace in some old rustic note,
or get lost in the summer glow?