In the month of April, summer's first sigh, Butterflies roam the sky, around trees they fly. A warm breeze, pleasant and cheerful, Everything at its peak, the world colorful. Plants greener than ever, energy high, Imagine sitting under a margosa, under the sky. On a low hill, far from the noisy crowd, Surrounded by forest, nature's shroud. When the wind blows, margosa leaves fall, Like raindrops from clouds, a gentle call. Trees dance to the wind's tune, Clouds scattered, shapes like balloons. Watching them wander, a peaceful sight, Clouds play a game of shade and light. A precious moment, a bond in time, Between the current me and the past's chime.