So gentle,
the whispered song
of seasons.
The chilling wind
hits her note,
as the heat-weary
embrace her breezes.
Before the earth freezes,
let us walk between
the trees,
and listen for
the whispered song;
red and yellow notes
will hide the greens.
Winter, winter,
play your song
and we will count
the notes
as they turn
and fall.
Hold my hand,
in harmony, sing
our fated chorus
to the sleeping trees.
When we rest,
beneath the sheets
of music, fallen,
her whispered
symphony song
will slowly
cease.
©️ 2019.
