the countess spoke of seasons
knowing them by the birds they brought -
sparrows were spring...
their wings spreading new colour
lavender so alive as to scare the cold out of winter
when nightingales sang winter songs
their claws locked on barren trees
that creaked from the wind
and shook as it claimed
the last of their dry winter leaves.
autumn called as the voice of a robin
red-breasted and nesting
protecting her young
who prepared for a flight
to the farmland down south
with every day and every meal
that entered the beaks outlining their mouths.
the countess waited for summer
from the moment it passed
like a lover run off with their heat...
casting bare shoulders into pining
for the warm comfort sun
that settled discreet on the red-brown horizon...
spilling over window sills
and transparent curtains of night.
Words by David Delmar. ©2001
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