The Degree, the Vigour, the Light,
All are going down.
“Winter is coming” he marvelled.
Taking all his belongings,
he drifted his weary way.
Leaves flooded the lonely street,
Filled with chirping of the bird
which along with its belongings,
ploughed the home backward.
His HOME was calling him.
Chilly fangs started making their presence felt,
With no wool on, against all the odds,
He kept his march on.
Sun tickled the last tick and signed off.
His room was still not in view.
“Still an hour”, he sighed,
“She must be needing me” he thought,
He paced up, to suffice her pace.
Darkness eclipsed the sky above and vision beneath,
Still he kept on for the awaitful return.
“Days are cutting short”
“Winter has come”, he exclaimed.
He can see his home finally
And her lying at the threshold . DEAD
The Degree, the Vigour ,the Light
All has come down.