The sky is dreary
A cold dove gray
That obliges my mind to wonder and stray
From the open road before me, straight
Lined by a snow-powdered, wooden gate
And dark black birds that sit and stare
Never endeavor to brazen the air
That darts in and out of pine needle trees
Shelter to little from the ghastly breeze
My eyes miss nothing of the time frozen woods
Though my mind sees spring where winter has stood
When the quiet is broken by pale little birds
That chirp and sweetly sing out their words
And nestled between trees is a hidden place where
A river runs gently over small stepping stones
Shaded by trees where Spanish moss grows
It soon floats away the last burnt orange leaf
As autumn steals to winter, a season’s thief
Dark staring eyes show the frozen grief
Of the little fish that lies immobile there
The sound of my progression muffled
By a blanket of snow
And with each step I feel my momentum slow
My weary body begs me to stay
In the shadowed woods under a sky colored gray
