posted on: Thursday November 19, 2015
by David Martineau ’18
A bitter gale sweeps across the azure sky
And a thousand tethered souls learn to fly,
Twisting and tumbling in the frigid air
Till their former home is stripped and bare.
Its branches flutter from side to side,
Waving with some sort of parental pride
As its summer friends drift slowly apart
Away from its gentle, wooded heart.
A gentle zephyr lifts and guides
The wayward souls like ocean tides,
Blowing them over hill and vale
With a wistful and deathly quiet wail.
The wind dies down, and the souls have their rest,
Descending to earth on a hill’s green crest.
With a quiet rustle, they return to the ground,
Their silent brethren strewn all around.
Above, the sky is blazing red
As the sun goes down to its bed.
And as the day ends its reign,
The souls wait for the wind again.