Winter Coming Poem by Smoky Hoss

a smokestack behind
rows of trees
turning
with the crisp autumn breeze;
rising far above
the steam furled air
are colors of fall
showing they are going, somewhere -

a bird
on the wing
southbound...
in its backwards spring -

past clouds
building snow,
summer can't wait
it just has to go -

Venus dances in the west
Big-Dipper scoops the Milky-Way,
soon gray clouds will block them all
as night takes over day -

so very still is the silent
out-beyond
that freezes the soul
of the old fishing pond -

there's not a sound
nor even one birdsong
now that the warm wind of summer
is long gone;
with what is coming
and what has went
natures glorious bounty
is once again fully spent -