Description
‘On my walk through winding,
unfrequented lanes,
the air is still,
the sun not wholly ineffectual,
my path firm
A meagre snowfall makes lace of the land;
birds in their branches keeps mute vigil
Nature,
half in mourning,
wears a grey mantle
and sighs in the trees
The sun will soon become an early riser
And grey skies will go into storage
A living silence will issue a mumble
from hedge and shrub
From high in the trees sociable conversation of song,
will fill this very air,
with the humming of rebirth’
VaL Smit ©
