There is a view from my window
Where I can see the strait.
Autumn’s burnt and rust colors have fallen
Upon the empty maize fields stricken fallow
The harvest is done; the feast has fate
Of winter’s chilled breathe to await.
The glass panes are ornate with crystal flake
That belie a silent death’s chilled mellow
And who shall last out – a prayer’s hallow
Held forever; carved upon a stone’s date.
Blessed are those that find Spring’s state
Where the greening snake shall birth in callow
Understanding of proper place or date
That will soon meet the season’s goodly spate.
Where the rivers shall rage swollen
Against the banks, rich in golden yellow,
As all the ships will come to harbor straight-
I shall then hesitate; for my mate is to wait.
There is a view from my window
Where I can see the strait.
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