47.      WINTER

It is briskly, it is bright,
It is flashy, it is night.
Borrowed from the heart
Too follow the mating call.

Song of delight
The birds took flight,
Feathers black, as they stood tight
As their hearts clung to the self.

They care not
To make snow
Out of meaningless words,
I know their notes sound bitterly low.
But where there is spring there is hope.