The green leaves glistened bright and slowly swayed,
In the morning in the late July heat.
His gaze at the window, utter dismay,
For he was trapped by walls locked in his seat.
The sky was blue and the birds sang shrill songs,
All throughout a windy October week.
He dropped his pen he’d been writing too long,
Looked at his life and deduced it was bleak.
The plants will grow, they’ve got naught else to do,
As the moon waves goodbye to December.
His family asked why he’s always so blue,
He replied calmly “I don’t remember”.
Squirrels pillage trees in search of fresh nuts,
He climbed up with them, got out of his rut.