She whispers my name... Only I can hear

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Swan


With a whistling of white wings
She takes the season, and is gone
Slow and ponderous was the look she gave all summer

But soon only memories will remain
Of warm days and of rain
Like the fast fading golden glow of a crisp autumn sunset
Over the stubble fields on the stubborn hills
Stripped of corn the crows come to gather and glean

Far above the fields the phalanx flies
Transcending long grey bars
Stained with rose, gold and amber hue
Southward now points the living wedge

A peace falls
Awaiting white blankets of November
The autumn fields are sleeping...

Please do not disturb them
As you go about your wintry business

Hush...

3 comments:

Dani said...

ahh.. so peaceful to read and makes me smile

Lydia said...

Treating myself to a page from your past posts again. This poem, Swan, is one of the most beautiful I've ever read. "...the living wedge.." Astonishing!

Citizen of Earth said...

Thanks Lydia!
I like this poem alot
The pic is mine also - somthing from my portfolio on film that managed to get scanned in