Patrick J. McCormack
Comments about Patrick J. McCormack
The Garden In Winter.
Stripped bare of past Autumnal glory
the fruit trees stand
with the cold of Winters season visited upon them
Migrant birds from far away
no longer gather to eat their fill
and sing among fully plumed branches
Just a single ragged robin dishevelled from rain and wind
now reigns alone in this his silent domain
as the garden lies wrapped in Winters sleep.