Ancient songs (Day 1374)

a second spring   

gathering in nearly-leafless trees

the mists of morning rich 

with ancient songs 

of miles to go and hard 

frosts soon to come   

of truth   warm 

                 as midsummer’s eve

of truth   cold 

                 as a February lake

of truth   that to prefer either is 

                 to embrace our discontent   

so   bodies black against a sky 

blank as an empty page   

they call and swoop  yielding as one  

then  outmanoevering  

the paling sun   recede southward 

to more benevolent fields 

© 2020 by Hannah Six