So distant, now . . those hot, hazy days
when even the winds were warm
the Sun slept little, from it’s scarlet set
to another bright morning, a dazzling dawn.
Too soon, the Sun slumbers, slow to rise
as golden leaves glisten, glossed by night’s rain
and falling,twirling, they waltz to Autumn’s wind
and bristling, bare bushes face Winter again.
January breezes begin their frosty toil
crispening a crust on the slumbering soil.
Soon, plucky bulbs will peep, and on dark, stark trees
Spring’s faithful companions, little green leaves.
Tony Bradley
