twenty six

Uncaring playful this juvenile Sun
gleeful comes with gambolling play;
leaves brush the path as they run
driven by those sprites of wind
before that last sweet dream is done
to wash with light that frolics fey;
outside my window the avian horde comes
fully awake to claim the future this day;
tea in hand I bask in warm winds blown,
strange autumn this as ever I’ve known.