birds singing over one another.
Each focused on their breathing,
distance moans the sound of thunder.
It is peaceful here, isolating:
a quiet-enough among the noise.
I hear nothing but breathing
which itself threatens my poise.
Floating drowns the whispers of trees,
changing the winds direction.
Fearful tidings settle to a breeze -
for a beat, I find perfection.
A chill toes the water,
gray casts over the day.
Birds lament silence
deciding not to stay.
Leaves, once a gracing presence,
the yard is now a desolate place.
Remembering that longed pleasance,
time has marked its beautiful face.
- Anonymous
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