The sun goes down
and the shiny sky turns gloomy and creates a shadow in every peripheral.
The aster which remains full of blooms pours its petals
and slammed itself into the muddy ground.
Convolvulus waved its ways bravely, not minding the dirt around it.
The cold breeze embraces every pore in the black puppy’s skin.
Whining pitifully, like begging for something that could not ever return.
The God then asks the black puppy,
“Why did you cling to something like fireflies inside the lamp, my dear?”
The black puppy could not speak, wouldn’t speak, turn its head away from God.
The God only smiles, and says,
“For living and death, a pitiful creature must know the dim of their light. Considering which color black or white is much better, none of them would make a promising presentation.”
The black puppy peeks up at God’s phrases.
Slowly takes an effort into the maze in the chilly setting,
wondering if it can find sweet apples or even a cottage to call it home.
