The Messenger
At cockcrow, the slightest breeze,
wee more than a whisper though.
Echoing it's communique through the trees,
A message, as if I alone, needed know.
But ere my day began to unwind,
It approached a gale, forceful and growing.
Spitting leaves at me, acting unrefined,
Sending signals that I cared not knowing.
But this much I know and yet believe,
It gave me pause to stop and stare.
Trying within myself to conceive,
This lingering message of the air.
Then, at eye's wink, I stood in time,
And with chilling rain now falling.
The answer came to the wind's little rhyme,
That winter would quickly be calling.
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