The cardinals croon an evening song.
Wild and shrill, fickle and brash.
A beckoning call that's nary long,
Crimson feathers like stained glass.
The foxes burrow deep and dark,
Amidst the hollows of the trees.
Limbs of amber draped above the rock,
Beneath the stars they rest with ease.
The mountains and rivers awake
So that blades of grass may rise.
Blankets of snow will soon forsake
Under timid rain and clouded skies.
The tides breathe alongside frigid wind,
A quiet chatter echoing like ancient chimes.
Jade leaves on branches marked and thinned,
Flickering about like a flame dancing with time.