if we could talk to birds
what would they say
would it be the arrival of spring
each twittering chatter
a whistle or two
heading into summer
such commotion
and synchronicity
as we fall into autumn
are they still with us
the weather becoming colder
in winter time
In front of me
was a leaf frog
Passing me by
a grey path
Crisscrossing pattern
green/brown
Autumn leaves,
crunch under my feet.
Their disheveled shapes,
fallen cries.
Each tree, shakes off
its branches, in the wind.
As the season turns
and the weather changes.
Our paths become,
that of one,
who is lost in colour
and cannot change.
