The days grow older
And the winds blow colder
As the meadows sway in a rusty yellow
In the plains of the southwest below
Bluish grey and open skies
When stars refuse to take their velvety rise.
Birds take wing
For what the season will bring
And all this I watched
Sat, stared, waited, and all was silenced
By the audible voices whispering among sleeping branches,
Bushes, shrubs, and grasses
And all this I appreciated
The tranquil dusk as the noble fiery star setted
A breath of fresh air
But a longing not filled with despair
While I am here.
