Colin F. Jones

THE LAST WIND

Quite soon the wind will come
To change my Summer look
That when the day is done
No bridge will cross the brook
The frosty nights will creep
To claim the fading light
And I will fall asleep
To hide from Summer’s sight
The Angel clouds on high
Pretending to be real
Will in the wind drift by
Content the light to steal…
And when the wind dies down
The silence will be profound