The playful rustle of mischievous leaves –
lounging about the streets, restlessly
on benches and sidewalks.
Giggling in the ticklish breeze.
The once green and pure and tame,
the once well-behaved young blooms
obediently cultivated in their arbour balconies.
The young daughters, lovely and restrained who
their fathers’ care and painted themselves with rouge,
frolicking in the night
kept warm by the glow of streetlights.
Their alluring gold radiance attracts
gazes, flirtations, declarations of love.
Careless interludes drenched in moonshine.
And they rustle on, and whisper to each other and forget.
Abandoned alleys echo, littered with scattered remnants of their mischief –
quiet now, in the frigid morning air.
The excitement exhausted, the flitting and dancing
their bodies heavy with dewy sweat
laced with mere memories