Ruined Spring Poem by Makeda Browne

No sound
Just the whistle of the wind on th grass
Feel its gentle blow pass
No sound

One sound
A chitter chatter of chipmunks
Scrambling over a dead tree trunk
One sound

Joy
The animals come out of their bunks and holes
The joyful creatures with merry souls
Joy

Death
A silent bullet in the air
Removes the light of a mother deer
Death

No sound
Just the whistle of the wind on the grass
Feel its gentle blow pass
No sound