Anadel

CONFIDENT

Spring lay down its sleepy head

and died inside its downy bed

Oak and maple shed their leaves

Which died as well, if you'd believe -

And in the shadows of a red brindle moon

The rustle of leaves - and from the wind, a croon

A lonesome whisper, a nip and a sigh

And then black lips which raised on high

And out, a howl, a cry, of life!

A song of autumn, edged as a knife

Did herald the birth of a hallowed young beast

Of shadows, of whispers, of life underneath.

heir markings