Cold the sun

which days now come,

a frozen still breaths

a summer now done.

Barren limbs

widows time,

to watch and listen

a quiet sublime.

Oh, but the promise

of summer’s youth,

is lost among  dried

leaves now mute.

The wind, the breeze,

does not remain

as time has come,

winter’s season reclaimed.

©    CMM   2011