east wind

an east wind blows across the plain
and past this lonely tree –
a season moves into an age;
the now, to history —

and we who stumble come across
such things, and stop to ponder;
the winds, the seasons, and us folk —
we all were born
to wander

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure. View all posts by Beleaguered Servant