
Windows, an effort;
a yearning for the outdoors,
from the great indoors.

Windows, an effort;
a yearning for the outdoors,
from the great indoors.

Looking sickly pale,
slender bones, brittling in cold;
the flu gets trees, too.

Enduring mother:
gathering leaves, harmless seems,
til she avenges.

Wander on, dear soul,
through the woods, the bush and bark—
life, a rainbow dream.

A bone-tingling breeze,
lingering in the mind—cold,
as regrets in life.