When the winds of time, Their narrow blow,
In tunnels of the world, on grounds below
Begins her dance, a freezing breeze.
Puts cold in what and is believed,
Of any other sort of sound,
Blowing in the ears of nature bound.
Awoke The earth on this still morn.
And stormed eternal in its form.
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Comments3
The winds of time don’t hibernate or migrate in the winter- a revelatory thought courtesy of your engaging poem! 🙏🏻🕊👍🏻
I agree. Lol. Winter has no bounds.
Cheers 🙏🏻🕊👍🏻
Nature free to do as it pleases, enjoyed the read
Nature's raw and unending influence on everything. Great poem, I love it.
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