The day falls dour and dreary.
effacing winter’s palimpsest,
prevails upon the weary,
well depriving us of any rest.
The chill air, still and eerie,
the startled trees lift up their arms;
while lonesome, high, and leery,
one far falcon keens the world’s alarms.
The circling clouds enfold us,
and the whispering rain descends:
but no hour can ever hold us,
and every winter ends.
–25 April, 2020