Poetry

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The morning air now has a cutting bite
My friend the bird is acting strangely too
My feathered friends have taken off in flight
As if to say, we've better things to do

Once clear blue skies have given way to gray
Once proud oak trees have been stripped of their leaves
Embarrassed for the tree, I look away
Their naked limbs in view for all to see

The sky releases its first winter snow
The small snowflakes fall softly to the ground
The early bird is the first one to know
It hunts for buried food without a sound

Autumn is gone, winter has spoken,
The cycle goes on, circle unbroken

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