
The Change
The sky is soft,
A fine snow drifts
Like gossamer.
Birds lift,
Become silhouettes,
They sense the squall,
That gathers,
Quietly.
There’s a sting
In the air,
A sharp burn
On chilled skin.
Eyes water
And trees run
On the edge
Of vision.
The sun is a pearl,
Slowly settling
Into a sediment
Of greying cloud.
So it begins,
That slow slide,
From one world,
To another.
Derek Ross
Magical work.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Cheers Douglas 👍
LikeLike
Thank you, Derek, for this wonderful post! Even here, in NI, we’ve had snow but it has mostly all melted in the spring sunshine.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thx !
Sehr schön und inspiriend..
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love the image and the poem in equal measure!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Liz. Been a bit quiet on the poetry front recently 😱. In fact, I did a reading last Friday and my voice packed up half way through.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome, Derek. I’m sure you’ll get back into the poetry swing of things. You have a real gift for it.
LikeLike