Sunday, October 24, 2010

A Cold Wind

Ruffles branches
Of trees guarding the backyard

Bamboo leaves hum softly
As they dance

Perched on a light pole
A lone sparrow

Courageously chirps
To hold back autumn

Beyond the brickwall
Morning traffic reveberates

Overhead a silver plane
Heads northwest

Its shape an arrow
Piercing the underbelly

Of earthy clumps
Of clouds

Old people claim
They can feel the change

Of seasons
In their aching bones

That’s something
At least I don’t yet feel

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