A Bird In Winter

A tragic hero in the perennial play here tomorrow, gone today A mere shadow in the Western sky such a long sojourn but a brief goodbye, The treetops whisk the opaque planetarium as the poignant gyroscope rotates into delirium, Birds turn South, leaves turn red like a flame that burns bright before growing dead, A call out, among the torrent lost in the waves, wind, and current The cacophony has been muted a silent status quo has been rooted, What little remains for the stranded lost and alone, exploited and branded.