When this wind blows
Things sound different
After the leaves have dropped
To mosaic the floor.
~
This wind bends through the bared boughs
Divides to draughts between the trunks
Blows low notes from the wood
Makes this place an instrument
For mournful tunes
~
When we hear this hollow overture
Howling from beeches and birches
We can be certain winter approaches
~
CLP 27/10/2020
