Flocks on Winter wing have flown
to skies where Summer's sun was blown.
In voices high their prises sing
of joys the southern breezes bring.

Withered sails on sky blue seas
catch the wind and leave the trees.
In Autmn's maelstrom churn and sift
till weighing anchor in the rift.

Frost on aster's rusting bloom
in crystal scripture foretells gloom.
From frozen blight the petals fend
that only April may amend.

Furry friends in frantic flury
from tree to shrub do scuttle and scurry.
With bulging cheeks to hollows run
for sleep is nigh as Winter come.