the sunday afternoon blues on a saterday night

Blues and greens gleam in the early morning light as the sun is waking up over the trees.
The beauty is profoundly lonely, and it begins to rain.
Just a little, there is no passion in it.
The path is wet as I walk away from the lake.
And I take one deep breath.
That is the end.
No more tears for what was and is no longer.
As the sun makes its way overhead I borrow its strength.
This day has not been my conqueror.