The Whistle

oh sweet finch
sing your spring songs
the chill is still strong in the morning air
for you me the days are longer now
so too the shadows
the telling wind rustles winter leaves
scratch at the graying stone
the shadows creep closer
an aging sun raises itself
leaves no doubt 
leaves me in the soft whistle
of my thawing 
thoughts

jppestana
the whistle
april1, 2018