Cool northern air
Lifts stale heat off my skin
And hovers, a welcome presence,
In the room’s quiet
A solitary cry in yellowed branches
Unlike summer songbirds
Which buffet the morning
With ceaseless chatter and romance
It is autumn’s mourning
Clear, distinct,
Pending, pensive,
Purposeful, strong
Your lush, singular voice
Flows with berries and seeds
Sufficient for the long cold winter
Poetry and Verse 