she rests upon a feather
a glint against the breeze
that softly gently lulls her
back into her dreams
the autumn here perfection
in sun in still in light
as summer rests its tired head
too quickly comes the night
but Father Time, while aged and wise,
he's no worse for the wear
there's no rest for the weary here
truths tangled in their hair
he transports awaited answers
minute hand holding mine
and gently softly guides me
to a peace of mind
like the chills that invade her spine
cold crisp winds whistle through
the window pane, the Rio Grande
fevered time peppered true
another dusty sunset highlights
all that she does now know
the seasons change so differently
without the caw of the crow
