Therese Gramercy . . . the girl named Trees

Winter Sky


The sky stretches its clear blue scarf overhead,
the sun casts its blue shadows on the white frozen land,
the north wind is whistling, I hear it whispering to me,
I feel its chill on my lips as it whips through the trees.

I thought I was imagining things, but I just heard it again,
the wind whispered your name, surely as songbirds do sing,
and as I looked skyward to where the wind turned my head,
the sun dazzled a ribbon of light down the pathway you left.