The Countess

the countess spoke of seasons

knowing them by the birds they brought -

sparrows were spring...

their wings spreading new colour

lavender so alive as to scare the cold out of winter

when nightingales sang winter songs

their claws locked on barren trees

that creaked from the wind

and shook as it claimed

the last of their dry winter leaves.

autumn called as the voice of a robin

red-breasted and nesting

protecting her young

who prepared for a flight

to the farmland down south

with every day and every meal

that entered the beaks outlining their mouths.

the countess waited for summer

from the moment it passed

like a lover run off with their heat...

casting bare shoulders into pining

for the warm comfort sun

that settled discreet on the red-brown horizon...

spilling over window sills

and transparent curtains of night.

Words by David Delmar. 2001

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