Posted in 2018

Till Spring 🌬 vcl©️

It is the time of year again

I hear the autumn call

In the cool brisk north wind

The whispering willows

Do their thing

Dropping leaves that cover

Things that will not be found

Till spring. And the last birds sing.

 

Those birds, they sing of everything

They have seen, soaring near and far

Flying high as they return

From whenst they came

Stealing grain, singing of

The journey home again

Slipping away to warmer climes

Life renewed. On the other side.