…of the season

The cold dawn draws my gaze
towards the sky, towards the clouds which in turn gaze back at me
I see their soft white faces lined with the ravages of winter winds
the dark bruises of the season
though dissonant from their gentle beauty, do not diminish them
there is a plump youthfulness
where they ripple across the face of the heavens
painted here and there with the glow of the rising sun
that in time also reveals the tired and shredded edges
gradually falling away, fading into the day
I can read their moods in their many faces
and today I feel they are weary
wishing that the wind would give them peace
and allow them to rest in place for just the shortest breath of time
so they can fall back into the arms of the morning
and while the hours away
© Ann Bagnall