the days are getting short
no morning glows
shade lingers neath
the mighty oak that grows
along the eastern side
where windmills spin
too soon, they’ll show
their mighty forms again

the robins, plump and silent
come and go
wild geese appear and scatter
to and fro
eventually a proper V
they’ll form
and head for winter havens
green and warm

through every change the sky retains its hue
reminding us another spring is due.