This Windy Morn Poem by Shirley Harrison

This windy morn

has left its debris on my path

the once elegant cypress

that's stood for years, now dead and gone

a path once filled

by the orchestra of birds hiding in its foliage

I shall overpass its fresh weeping skeleton

whilst reflecting on

oh how its shade has protected me from the hot sun

and from the unpredictable powers of

Mother Nature's wrath

I can tell you, we've had many

after all, we still have four seasons here

soon it will be time to pot my strawberry seeds

but they'll never be a patch on that cypress.