There are few heard
in this bare and silent month
after all the leaves have fallen,
but the nests become visible,
all those homes of summer
we could barely imagine
when hidden by July’s green,
where miracles took place
we have not yet encountered,
magic we will not know
until the grace of spring,
when all those miracles
unwitnessed in the year past
will begin to sing.
No comments:
Post a Comment