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