A Winter's Song
The brazen wind flows through the naked trees,
where multitudes of scrawny fingers attached
to stout limbs conduct the aria.
the trill of the dawn
awakes the sedulity…
a wee tad foisty
With each sunrise a regimental instinct, as the craw of
the crow delivers the day, when as the lone Bugler
at his post, reveille resounds upon a torrent stream.
the chill of winter
initiates spiral breath…
fruit rots on the ground
The tempest from the Southern Ocean evokes nakedness
within this place, destroyer of all that was verdant, yet an
act of kindness, to ready life for spring to live once again.
through the morning mist
air is turning icy blue…
the tide rushes in
© Harry J Horsman 2022
Copyright © Harry Horsman | Year Posted 2022
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