Winter.

The changing weather of
Winter is masked.
Sometimes a little grey all along
That bruised my palm
All alone as if hanging
The dewdrops in a muddy bowl
The flowers are sordid
A little pansy, shiver stricken
I took my notepads out in the
Blueish grey
The parchment of winter hang around
Drinking, seemed a little noble
As it stitched my past
Into grey sweaters
The touch and go all ripened
And new at the same time
The falcon flew over all along
Waiting for the winter
A little long with grey walls
Of fortresses.



Choir.

Sunday, an epiphany found
Breeze toiling outside the church
A Shepherdess in warm moonshine
A prosaic piece of some bliss
Writing with changing weather
An ever brimming motion
With each cessation a new sun rises
And Swirls in outside venture
The autumn aurora came
A little too late
Bringing forth history
Nation's bringing clamor
Epiphanies shoven into
My cosmic zeal of a suspense high
Then I found bright torpor of choir
Singing an ever brimming motion
Writing delivering with churches
The sun shone a flagship high
For autumn that came a little too late.