Shy ravens in the air.
Quiet confidence speaks like a clanging bell.
Found a homage, this four-leaf clover.
Where grass and fields and the evergreen.
Smell of pines, of Hickory, of softwoods.
The fogs of winter’s dawn prance in tambourine.
Old dirt on the road, the marching funeral.
Death begins a history unknown.
Falling snowflakes, the darling crystals.
Yellow corns are cheery lanterns.
Folktales are told from one mouth to another.
Knights, knives, rough maladies of life.
Evenings hide more secrecy.
Memories, drowned in the sea.