my frosted ginger-bread mornings…
my crisp arum-lily afternoons,
Mahogany nights.
Winter is here. I can tell.
Something has changed in the air.
The quietness has set in.
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'I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show,
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down...'
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show,
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down...'
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