The Herons

And now when the earth has stooped to gather In the careful hands of autumn All that summer has abandoned, A time of left behind... Comes a wind that blows unceasing Erodes away the dunes On grey moon hungry beaches, Where the winter crows parading Cry out in black formation Their scorn upon the world Everturning... And there where the fruit no longer ripens On the vines the years have withered, Has the earth so soon forgotten That not so long ago How the wind was soft and perfumed How the herons turned and circled With their wings aflame with sunset... Now the winter crows parading Cry out in black formation Their scorn upon the world Everchanging...