The window where I sit,
Is the place where all thought and,
Speaking to me through the trees,
the birds and sky.
The changing lights and patterns.
Activity of the birds and,
insects, and winds.
The season’s, the growth and death.
The scene constantly changes, that I am sure.
Dim and dimmer is the fading light.
The trees, barely visible against the sky.
No moon will show its marvellous face.
No bird is seen,
disappeared to who knows where.
I wonder where they go.
Hollow logs and rocky caves.
They sit and watch and,
wait for better times to come.
Meantime the winds rock the trees,
and rattle the windows,
The winds of change arriving at my window sill,
Nudging me along the track of anguish and pain.