Winter’s tremble comes
The first cold night wraps itself for snap
autumn’s breath quiet now exhales
the last warmth into the catcher’s mitt
a windy day braces chatter to nil
the score is one fire starter to go
kindling stacked ready for the slide
into this unlighted stand clapping
waiting for some incendiary song
a captive bird entrapped within there
unheard and unseen in plaintive melody
a lure of day above collapsing inter
buried in its confined sealed composure
the season’s sacrifice of nesting home
carried forth with some feckless care
who are we to speak the flight of words?
ascendent withal its grounded colours
James Walton Poetry 