Wherever the Wind Will Blow Raindrops, from the clouds, Like tears from children’s faces. Dripping down, Staining the ground. The Wind blows cold, Shivering the covering, the trees are trembling in their skin . Making them cry, Weeping with Natures breath To relinquish them, Forgetting about their towering limbs and leave them were they stand, Deep sunk, roots in the ground. Running off with the distant blowing wind, Leaves twirl and fight with their captor, Tired and weak, now naked they stand, Skeletons against the dark sky. A stage of battle, that will only close the curtain to the ending of an act from a never-ending play.