Voices on the Wind
Voices in the Garden
The Fifth and Last Winter
by J.R. Robert-Saavedra
I met him in my fourth winter
A cold and long winter it was
He slowly thawed-off the ice from my branches
He made the sap run in my veins again.
In the spring he pruned every branch
He made me flower like a Sun
Every single bud he opened
And to every flower he gave a bee.
In the summer he was the breeze
And together we danced under a cloudless sky
My branches he filled with birds
That sang to us during the speeding hours.
But now it is autumn again
My flowers carpet my roots
My leaves dress me like a queen
But now the wind is getting chill and the birds are gone.
It is the fifth and coldest winter yet
The snow is deep the wind is deathly cold
Oh wind why you did not uproot me in the fall
When will my winters cease to come?