The skies heaved, sound and sound.
The crows swirled, round and round.
Was it the rain? Or Was it the faint, or
Was it the pain, that’s back again?

Down there, there-in-there,
Shade took over the fair.
Where lovers swayed through their days,
in a haze.

“Darling, won’t you stay?” as,
he say,

The burden of the skies,
hurled down the trees,
floors past floors,
down into the seas.

Before she could say,

She saw, down there,
round and round.
A ripple on the ground.
Etched by the rain,
born from pain.

With its crests and troughs,
the ripple took to the seas,
a book of dreams,
ever untold.

By him.

- Aadil Varsh