My friends,
who now sit in a silent way.
Now that summer is over.
Will you still hear
the cicada shrieks,
that never leaves a moment dry.
And the screams of joy,
from the blue magpies.
Swirling away from the peaks.
As they make their way
back to their island homes.
Stretching and learning as they go.
A tiny gentleness
that does not wither.
​
A Wandering Poet 