The Earth is beginning to rock, <br />ready to change places, <br />with the Equator. <br />My autumn is now, <br />down under it's, <br />blooming spring. <br />Your weather really, <br />is of no concern to me. <br /> <br />Full from double exposure, <br />to the brutal sun. <br />Air bubbles clash and explode. <br />Heaving dry wind. <br />The color white hibernates, <br />in a dusty brown sack, <br />ready to rise with, <br />Jesus on Easter Sunday. <br /> <br />Now I'm searching for, <br />red measles on green leaves, <br />and apple blossoms, <br />heavy with crisp air fruit. <br />Homeless birds from the, <br />north settle in like vagrants. <br />Their routine settles me, <br />like air, and fall apples. <br /> <br />Big, bright yellow, <br />school buses round up, <br />the children. <br />All catholic like, <br />in pleated plaid. <br />Crisp and oh so neat. <br />Monogrammed to a tee. <br />With their noses held high in the, <br />anorexic air, privileged minds, <br />complain about the death of <br />summer.<br /><br />Robin Bennett<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-snow-birds-have-come-calling/
