Seasons

Crest-fallen folly,
a sparrows final dive,
where within the forest,
have you chosen to lie?

scowl torn and ever present mist,
I've seen, I've loved and I've missed.

Those fallen branches,
where the wrens cry,
the winds don't blow there anymore.

Holly and jolly the rough tides of time,
have forced the cauldron to boil.
and though spring has faded,
the blue jay, now jaded,
can't fly far enough to hide. 

Those rough summer drizzles,
the tears of the trees
will warm,
they will freeze.
As time ticks onward,
no regard for the birds.

Now weary and weak the goldfinch weeps
as his search for the sparrow has heralded no seed.
upon a tree, stark naked and free,
he perches himself with the wren.

As he tries and he calls,
the sweet song of dawn,
cannot stop the rain from the wren.
her song,
though sickly, though sweet,
is wrought with the sadness of fall.

But time holds no bar,
for the dear birds of autumn.
As the branches weaken,
the goldfinch, the wren,
have broken their breasts in the cold.

as the ground becomes closer,
and the winter grows colder,
dawn breaks for the beasts mid-fall.

crest-fallen creature,
these beasts took a dive,
why here within the forest,
did you choose to lie?