whitespace

 

 

when winter steps in

the air becomes thin

sunshine creeps into the forest

~

the blackbirds will come

they have it their run

no one there now will dare protest

~

life has all gone!

it followed the sun

none in the wake but what dearest

~

the blackbirds don’t care

as strangers they are

beachcomers – born again tourists

~

the tide now gone out

they pillage about

the leftover litter they harvest

~

this now their own

their privy space – home!

this is alone their own forest

~

if pressed to an ear

you might maybe hear

the life was once there but now barest

~

a whitespace erased

now loud in its place

before is no more hits the hardest

~

this is now then

the primeval forest

unreal is the real and before us

©2014, Marvin Welborn

10 June 2014

 

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