Colors

And then the mighty wind stopped, when it caught a crimson leaf; 

Howling in a former rage, had come to change its belief.

The wind murmured another blow, towards a waterfall; 

Drenched the leaf with colors, of love and all.

A pure and fresh drizzle, smelling lavender of another kind; 

Holding its colors, but source of respite was tough to find.

The blows now slowed down, a silence of some sort; 

The mighty wind had puffed lavender in retort.

The leaf kept swirling, in mixed beliefs it bred; 

New colors emerging, to what is meant and what is said.