The wind has found its somnolent chords
driving across the earth with portentous song
played in C-minor, an ominous dissonance
stripping the magnolia of her wilted hearts

clearing from the night her sweet fragrance
so that you step into a world that smells
like the nostalgic melancholy of an old man’s yearning
for his life to un-layer its sorrow, to be young

the streets are strewn with the debris of spring trees
the wind shifts, turns cold, and you can feel the rain
before it begins to fall