Muted skies viewed through saddened eyes,
searching for the hope of spring in autumn’s dying days.
She lies on the couch staring through the blinds,
slats of a vision broken. No words spoken, only sighs,
a rebuke to the muted skies. Days pass a month
at a time and I am a mime for her brave front.
Winter approaches, and encroaches on our solitude;
a rude intrusion. The wind whispers her warning,
a woeful lament sent as a harbinger call. A moment
shared when the first snowflakes fall.
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016