Winter Song

I walk through the winter leafy glade A carpet of gold and red and brown Cascade at my feet through which I wade In the wood at the edge of the town. Bare trees thrust their branches skyward, Like pointing fingers accusing the sky Of creating a cold dank misty wood Where a solitary magpie does fly. Songs sung by the robins echo around The wood and an orchestra of blackbirds Make music come to life with their distinctive sound; A solitary nightingale knows all the words. The fountain from the lake falls in perfect pitch Forming eddies which the fish swim through. And voles and mice dance through a ditch Where squirrels gather nuts quickly and true. The wood was rough with several meandering tracks Where people wore their days with long masks Sowing dreams and reaping realities hard facts Some recall the drabness of life's hard tasks. But the wood will live on for many a year And robins and blackbirds will entertain all Where life in the wood will remain everything dear Looking forward to spring and the mid-summer ball.