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?