Visions Of The Coming Winter Poem by Phil Soar

A delicate breeze brushed my face in the cold morning air
And whispers from the bulrushes softened the sounds of the wind
Where shadows were cast by the early sunrise
My image was etched in the ground like a water colour

Of deepest darkness, that shadow followed my steps
Unlike the gold of the sun, it blended with the scene
Swans moved graciously on a mill pond
And the ripples on the water reflected the sun

As we passed by, the air felt fresh and alive
The morning seemed to have become unaware of its presence
While along the footpath, the odd robin flashed by
Brightening up our morning walk, and sang his winter song